


Malarkia

by ijnt



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dark Harry Potter, Desi Harry Potter, Female Harry Potter, Female Tom Riddle, Female Voldemort (Harry Potter), Languages, Legilimency, Mental Institutions, Multi, Not Fantastic Beasts Compliant, Not Pottermore Compliant, Room of Requirement Shenanigans, Worldbuilding, a very charming diary, because he is, he's sort of manipulative dumbledore but canon, is canon!manipulative!dumbledore a tag, it's not even really dumbledore's fault this time, magical britain is kind of a shithole, no the government doesnt make sense, not even a little, not in the usual way tho, not unlike real britain, some magical culture, the dursleys are a fuck
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:21:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23022415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ijnt/pseuds/ijnt
Summary: Cecilia Riddle is everything that Harriet Potter wishes she could be: elegant, brilliant, deadly. It's too bad that she's stuck in a diary, but luckily, Cecilia has a few ideas about fixing that — and none of them involve sacrifices or basilisks.
Comments: 98
Kudos: 331





	1. The Diary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Betaing done by the lovely [AlmostElectric](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostElectric/pseuds/AlmostElectric)!

Harry was really quite impressed - she'd thought that Uncle Vernon was the only one capable of turning that horrible shade of red, but apparently, Ginny Weasley also had significant powers of facial discoloration.

"Just take it," Ginny urged.

"I really don't-"

"Take it, or I'll hex you." With her other hand, Ginny pulled out her wand. "I don't know many, but Fred and George taught me the Bat-Bogey Hex."

Harry didn't want to argue, so she took the book. It was black, and looked very old. "What is it?" she asked.

"It's an old diary, that Mum must have gotten. I've still got one, that Luna gave me for my birthday last year," Ginny explained. She got even redder - before today, Harry would have said it was impossible for your face to get more red than your hair, but she was disproven. "It's the least I can do, after all the Lockhart books."

"Er...thanks, Ginny," Harry said.

Ginny seemed to have used up all her determination to speak, so she just nodded, and bustled off.

Harry had never had a diary before. The Dursleys certainly wouldn't have bought her one, and by the time she had been old enough for Hogwarts, the thought just didn't occur to her. Still, Ginny seemed insistent on giving it to her, so the least she could do was give it a shot, sometime.

She opened it up - it was blank, on every page, except the inside cover, which only held a name: C. M. Riddle. Mrs. Weasley must have gotten it secondhand, and whoever C. M. Riddle was, they'd just never written in their diary.

It was strange, but Harry didn't think much of it.

* * *

A few days later, Harry tried to write in her diary for the first time. She'd found a secluded corner of the Weasley's yards, underneath a particularly impressive oak tree. Hedwig nestled in the branches above her, sitting softly, and keeping an eye on her human with warm orange eyes.

Harry left C. M. Riddle's name on her own page. It didn't feel quite right, so she moved to the next page.

_Harry Potter,_ she wrote. She stared at it for a second, before she decided to use her full name, _Harriet Potter_. When she went to cross out the first name, however, she found it had disappeared into the diary. She wondered if Ginny knew this diary was useless, if it just absorbed everything you wrote in it.

She watched her full name disappear into the page, too, and was just about to check to see if all the pages did that, when the diary wrote back.

_Hello, Harriet Potter_ , it said, in a thin, spidery script that Harry only dreamed of being capable of replicating.

Harry stared at it.

_Hello?_ she scrawled back. _Are you alive?_

_I am alive, at least in the sense that I think you mean,_ it wrote _. I am a diary that writes back._

Harry was fascinated.

_How? Why? What do I call you? Are you C. M. Riddle?_ Her writing was cramped, and hurried, but she was very curious.

_I am C. M. Riddle. I am not, perhaps, the original C. M. Riddle, but, she was my creator. I would be honored if you wished to call me by her name - Cecilia._

_Okay_ , Harry wrote. _What's the point of a talking diary?_

_That's a complicated question,_ the diary explained. _The how of it is even more complicated, but the why - how much do you know about the Second World War - the one that the Muggles fought in, that is?_

_Not very much,_ Harry admitted. _We learned a bit in primary. There were some not-very-nice Germans, and they attacked France, and Britain._

_Yes, that's true. The relevant detail here is that the Germans bombed London, for a period in 1940 and 1941. Cecilia was living in London, then, at an orphanage - she was able to stay at Hogwarts, safe, for most of the year, but she still had to return, every summer. The children and staff of the orphanage had to sleep in the Underground, at one of the tube stations, for fear of being killed by the bombs. It was hot, sweaty, and cramped, and it affected Cecilia quite a bit._

_She was an orphan, you see, and she believed that if she was killed, no one would remember her. This diary was a way of living on - it cannot be destroyed by normal means, only by powerful magic._

The diary stopped, then. Harry wasn't totally sure what to say, because that sounded like a very sad way to live, hiding underground with other orphans. Harry knew, on some level, that the Dursleys didn't treat her right, but she might have picked going there, instead of sleeping in a subway station.

_I'm sorry_ , she wrote. _I'm an orphan too._ _That sounds much worse than where I live, though. I suppose I don't have to worry about being forgotten, at least. I'm famous, you see._

_Cecilia survived,_ the diary explained. _She graduated as Head Girl from Hogwarts, and eventually got a job she enjoyed - working at a shop for old artifacts. She had something of an interest in enchanting, and she worked there for a few years, still writing in me from time to time to update me with new things she had learned, or new events in her life. She disappeared one day, though, many years later. I'm telling you this because she was happy, I think. She got away from there._

_I've talked a lot about my creator, and myself, though. It's terribly rude, and I'm sorry for that. Why are you famous, Harriet Potter?_

Harry frowned, and explained, _I defeated a famous Dark witch, that everyone feared. Now I'm a celebrity. It's annoying._

_I hope you fade into obscurity soon, then._ Cecilia paused, for a second, and then continued, _forgive me, Harriet, if I might have been incorrect in assuming how old you were. How old are you?_

_Twelve._

_That's very impressive, then. I don't want to accuse you of lying, but I find it hard to believe that you defeated someone like that when you were so young. I doubt my creator could have done it, and she was exceptionally talented._

Harry bit her lip. _I defeated her when I was just a baby. Maybe 'defeat' is the wrong word. She killed my parents, and then tried to kill me, but the curse didn't work, for some reason, and she died instead. They call me the Girl-Who-Lived. I don't like that name, much at all. I'm just lucky. There's nothing special about me._

_I don't mean to be rude,_ the diary wrote. _But that doesn't seem to have much to do with you. If she couldn't kill you, it was likely something your parents did - maybe they dueled, and one of them weakened her, or something. But I don't think it's possible for a baby to just survive the Killing Curse, all on their own._

Harry nodded, before realizing that the diary couldn't see that. _Professor Dumbledore said that it was my mother's love that saved me. She died to protect me, and that's what stopped Voldemort._

The diary paused. _Voldemort being the dark witch, yes?_

_Yes._

_I think it's very possible that your mother stopped her, and saved you. I don't think I that's how I would describe that protection, but if your mother gave her life for yours, there's lots of power in that. It sounds like your mother defeated this Voldemort, not you - no offense, of course._

_I think I like the sound of that,_ Harry wrote. _My mum must have loved me a whole lot, then._

_Yes,_ the diary wrote, and for the first time, Cecilia's impeccable penmanship faltered. The next words were rushed, and cramped. _I think she must have, to have made you protection that would help you survive that. As far as I am aware - and I should know, since Cecilia made sure I was updated on the many things she studied since she made me - simply dying for you might not have been enough. If I had to guess, I think it might have been something she planned for - a ritual, for your protection. She must have known that Voldemort was coming for her, and planned to destroy her in such a way._

Harry could feel her eyes growing hot. _My mum sounds pretty awesome, doesn't she?_

_She does. Cecilia's mother died giving birth to her, at the orphanage. I don't think we ever quite forgave her for that. That's why she never liked her middle name - Merope, after her mother._

Harry smiled. _I think, if she brought her child to the orphanage, she must have loved Cecilia. She wanted her to survive, after all. Maybe that was the only thing she could do._

The diary didn't reply for a while after that, so Harry just shifted against the tree, relaxing. Ron and Fred and George and Ginny must still be out playing Quidditch - Harry had lent Ginny her broom, because she wasn't allowed to have her own, and insisted that she play. Ron hadn't been happy with that decision, but Harry didn't care. Mrs. Weasley, too, was likely to object, but what she didn't know wasn't going to hurt her.

She'd never say anything about it to Mrs. Weasley directly, but it was dumb that Ginny wasn't allowed to play. If Harry insisted that Ginny use her broom, there was no way for them to refuse. Harry would have liked to play, too, but she'd always have time later, at Hogwarts.

She looked back at the diary, and saw that Cecilia had written her back.

_**If she loved us, she wouldn't have died.**_ The words were thick, and deliberate, as if Cecilia had been angry while writing them.

Underneath, however, was added, _I'm sorry. It's a bit of a sore topic, with us. It's very sweet of you to say, however._

_It's no problem,_ Harry replied. I understand. _I would much rather have parents, than all the recognition in the world. I can't even go to Diagon Alley without being swarmed by a crowd of people._

_My condolences, Harry._

_Thanks, Cecilia._

_Let's talk about something else. What's your favorite subject at Hogwarts?_

Harry had to think about that. She didn't really like Potions, or History of Magic, or Astronomy, for various reasons. Herbology wasn't bad, but it wasn't really her thing. Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense were alright, but Flitwick made Charms fun.

_Charms, I suppose. I don't mind Transfiguration, either, but I always feel like I'm not getting something about it. Defense Against the Dark Arts seems promising, too, but we had a pretty awful teacher, this past year. He didn't teach us much, mostly just stuttered and jumped at shadows._

The diary replied, _That seems fair. The teacher can really make or a break a subject, sometimes. I might have enjoyed Transfiguration the most, but I think Defense beat it out, because of the professor. Does Professor Dumbledore still teach Transfiguration?_

_No_ , Harry wrote. _He's the Headmaster now. Professor McGonagall teaches Transfiguration. Defense Against the Dark Arts was taught by a man named Quirrell, but he's dead now._

_One of your professors died?_

_Well, yes._ Harry felt awkward explaining this. _He had Voldemort inside of him, so when I touched him, it hurt him. He came after me, to try and get the Philosopher's Stone, but I didn't let him have it. Either that, or he was a pedophile._

_My time at Hogwarts was never this exciting,_ the diary wrote. _Voldemort is still alive, then?_

_Yes,_ Harry wrote. _She was a weird ghost thing, though. A spirit? She had to possess Quirrell, and she wanted to get her body back._

_I think it might be best if you told me more about her,_ Cecilia said. _What was she like?_

_I dunno,_ Harry said. _She told me, 'there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.' And then she tried to get me to give her the Stone, but I didn't. And then Quirrell grabbed me, but it hurt him, so he died, and then that was that._

_Interesting. I think it might be best if you learned something about defending yourself, with me._

_Why?_ Harry asked. _It's the summer._

_Well, if you had a bad teacher in Defense, you're likely not to know very much. And it doesn't sound like this Voldemort is going to leave you alone, if you defeated her twice already. It might be prudent to be prepared, in case she does come back._

_I meant that I can't do magic, in the summer,_ Harry said.

_How long do you have until you go back to Hogwarts?_

_A week._

_Then, I suppose it won't be the end of the world if we wait a week. I can show you a bit more than just spells, however. Cecilia meant this diary as a teaching tool - she wanted to be a teacher at Hogwarts, teaching Defense, but she was turned down, both times she applied. She wanted very much to teach someone, so it would make me very happy to teach you something, while you have this diary. If you're interested in dueling, she built a small enchantment that will allow me to demonstrate spells for you._

_That sounds brilliant,_ Harry wrote.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley's voice echoed out across the yard. "Dinner!"

_I have to go eat dinner now, though._

* * *

By September 1st, Harry had written Cecilia in the diary a few more times, mostly talking about inconsequential things. Harry figured that a talking diary wasn't really all that interested in the small stuff, so she mostly stuck to catching Cecilia up about the Wizarding World in the time since the original Cecilia had disappeared.

Cecilia - the diary version, that was - was funny, clever, and she always seemed interested in Harry. Harry had never really had someone who was so invested in her before - except maybe Hagrid, but Hagrid was different, from Cecilia. Harry imagined that it was a bit like having an older sister.

He was a perfectly nice man, but still an older man. He didn't quite get it like Cecilia did.

Mr. Weasley drove the whole family to King's Cross in his enchanted Ford Anglia. Harry had a wonderful time, mostly because of all the empty space. Mrs. Weasley, however, kept a tight grip on both her and Ginny on the entire way. Ginny shared a commiserating look, obviously used to this kind of behavior.

Harry had never really had anyone treat her differently for being a girl before - that was new, too. Mrs. Weasley seemed to really enjoy having her around, even if she seemed to think that Harry was some sort of delicate wilting flower. Harry was a lot of things, but she wasn't delicate - she'd spent ten years taking care of herself.

It also gave her some interesting insight into Ginny, and why she was so scrappy. She certainly didn't seem the type to welcome that kind of coddling. There was apparently a limit to her rebellion, though - no escaping Mrs. Weasley's vice grip on her shoulder the entire way through King's cross.

Percy went first, followed by Mr. Weasley, and then Fred and George.

Mrs. Weasley, still gripping Harry and Ginny as if they were about to turn and bolt at any given moment, steered them through the barrier. Harry was pushing her trunk, with both hands, Hedwig on top.

Mrs. Weasley had Ginny's trunk. The went to step through, and -

Thud. There was no give in the barrier, and Harry's trolley hit it dead on. Hedwig screeched, and her cage slowly began to topple. Harry tried to lunge forward and grab it, but the trolley was in the way.

Ginny smoothly snatched Hedwig's cage, saving her from clattering to the floor in a heap.

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry said.

She grinned.

Mrs. Weasley was muttering to herself, even as she let go of Harry and stepped to the barrier, putting her hands against it. It stayed solid.

"Why can't we get through, Mum?" Ginny asked.

"I've never seen this before," Mrs. Weasley admitted.

Ron stepped up from behind them, next to Harry. "The guy's noticed us," he said. Harry looked around, and one of the security guards was bustling over.

"Need help, ma'am?" he asked.

"No, thank you," Mrs. Weasley said, smile fixed on her face.

The security guard didn't look pleased, but he nodded anyway.

"The train's leaving," said Harry, eyeing the large clock, overlooking the platform. "It's almost eleven now."

"Alright," Mrs. Weasley declared. "We're going to wait for Arthur. Girls, Ron, get your stuff, and we'll stay here for now."

Harry wheeled her trolley around, and leaned against the wall. Ginny was right next to her, and Ron slouched down onto the floor.

"We're gonna be in so much trouble," he said, glum.

"They'll do no such thing," Mrs. Weasley said, eyes narrow, glaring around as if looking for someone to yell at. "The barrier closed early. Absolutely outrageous, if you ask me."

"Should I… er… write to them?"

"Write to them?" Mrs. Weasley asked.

"Tell Professor McGonagall that we missed the train, or something. Let them know that the barrier wasn't working." It seemed like a solid plan to Harry, honestly, because the train had just gone - they had cut it very close, but there had been enough time to barely make it if the barrier hadn't closed.

"Let me," Mrs. Weasley said, and Harry provided her with a quill and a bit of parchment. Soon, Hedwig was winging along, with a note to Mr. Weasley, and, then, a note to McGonagall.

"Alright." She visibly gathered herself, and then turned to the group. "I'm going to Apparate, but I'm not good enough to bring all of you at once. So, I'll take Ginny, and then I'll come back for you two."

Harry nodded, and Ron looked ill. She could tell that he was very relieved that they weren't in trouble. Mrs. Weasley disappeared with Ginny and her luggage, and it was only a quick minute before she reappeared, grabbing Harry.

There was a terrifying whirl of color, sound, and motion, and then she was lying on the floor of the Weasley's kitchen, head spinning, trying desperately not to vomit. Soft hands corded themselves into her hair, and she heard Mrs. Weasley murmuring soothing things. Harry promptly felt guilty for all the frustrations she'd had in the past month or so, because Mrs. Weasley was very nice and clearly a very good mother, even if she sometimes had annoying ideas about what was proper for girls.

Then, Mrs. Weasley had popped away again to get Ron, and Ginny was sitting on the floor with Harry. Soon enough, all four of them were there, sitting at the table, nursing cups of tea, and waiting for Hedwig and Mr. Weasley.

He popped in a few minutes later. "Molly!" he exclaimed. "What happened?"

"The barrier wouldn't let us in, Arthur," Mrs. Weasley said, hands already busy working on sandwiches, since they'd missed the train. "We've sent a letter to McGonagall - maybe we can floo there, or Apparate."

"I examined it from my end," Mr. Weasley said. "Amos was there, too, to help me out, bless him. I've never seen anything like it - it had to be some powerful enchantment, for what seems like a prank." He rubbed his head, glancing over them. "And whoever did it, they only got you three. Fred and George would have done it earlier, made half the school late."

Mrs. Weasley glanced over them, her eyes lingering on Harry. "Maybe they were hoping for one person," she said.

Harry looked at Ron. 'Dobby,' she mouthed. He scrunched his face up, in confusion. Harry figured that if the barrier had really closed for just her, that was the exact kind of hare-brained scheme Dobby might have cooked up. Maybe, if the Weasleys had been earlier, Mr. Weasley might have been right, and the barrier would have closed much earlier.

Either way, there wasn't much she could do about it, so they were resigned to sit and wait and read their school books until lunch. Harry considered taking out the diary, but she figured it might be awkward to explain Cecilia, particularly if Mrs. Weasley saw that Ginny had given away the diary that she'd bought her.

By half eleven, Hedwig had returned, with a note from Professor McGonagall. They were to floo to Hogwarts at one, where they would wait in her office until the Feast. It was, Harry thought, a simple solution, which seemed to be something of a rarity at Hogwarts. Minerva McGonagall's influence, no doubt.

Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder - what did happen? Dobby seemed to be the most reasonable answer, but what could be so bad that he was willing to actively sabotage her to get her to stay?

She'd asked Cecilia about him, who had told Harry that she was right to stay at Hogwarts, because even if there was danger, at Hogwarts, she'd learn to do more magic, which, in turn, would mean she could protect herself better. Hogwarts, too, wasn't something you could just opt out of for a year, with no consequences, so it would really be throwing away her entire future for safety against a vague threat.

This, of course, was logical and well-reasoned, and like many of the things Cecilia said, Harry could find no reason to disagree.

By the time that it was time for the feast, Harry had made her way through _Voyages with Vampires_ , lost to Ron four times in Wizard's Chess, had traded wins with Ginny, and fallen asleep halfway through _Year with the Yeti_ before Ginny was prodding her awake, tossing her school uniform and robes at her.

Five minutes later, Harry and Ron were sitting down at the Gryffindor table waiting for the feast to start, while Ginny had trailed along after Professor McGonagall to meet with the other first-years.

Harry and Ron fielded excited questions from Hermione and the rest of their housemates about why they'd missed the train - "But the train's not failed anyone, not since the school was founded," Hermione had insisted. Harry seriously doubted that, but she didn't think it was worth arguing.

Sitting there, in the Great Hall, underneath the hundreds of floating candles and the inky-black ceiling, peppered with stars, like sweets spilled across the floor, Harry felt comfortable for the first time since the barrier had stopped them from entering, back at King's Cross.

She watched with interest as Professor McGonagall set the shabby wooden stool at the front of the room, and put the equally shabby Sorting Hat on top. The first years stood in a line, staring around wildly. Harry was short for her age, but some of these kids were positively tiny.

The hat opened up into song - Harry wondered how long it took the thing to come up with them, and figured it probably didn't take the entire year. It had to do something else with its time.

Harry watched the Sorting with a curious kind of curiosity - the only person here that she had an investment in was Ginny, who seemed like a pretty solid bet for Gryffindor. Still, she clapped for everyone - even the Slytherins, who probably didn't deserve it.

Finally, McGonagall called, "Weasley, Ginevra!" The girl in question went red, stepping gingerly up to the hat. It slipped low over her eyes. Ron, next to Harry, was muttering to himself under his breath.

After what must have been a minute, even if it did feel much longer, the hat shouted, "Gryffindor!" and then the entire house was cheering, Fred and George particularly loud.

Ginny grinned, and dropped the hat back onto the chair, and rushed over to the Gryffindor table. Harry clapped, and Ron grinned, next to her.

Dumbledore got up, and announced the feast, and then the table was filled with all kinds of food - Harry wasn't particularly hungry, but she made an effort to have at least some mash, and roast.

"How was your summer, Harry?" Neville asked.

Harry shrugged, unsure how to explain the padlock on her room, so she just said, "Fine. Yours?"

Neville smiled back, the expression weak. "Mine was alright, too."

"Hopeless, both of you," Ron said. "Harry came and visited me for a while. That was nice."

"It was," Harry agreed. "I should write to your mum, thank her again."

"Yeah. She loves having you around, though. You're skinny. Mum loves feeding skinny people."

Harry chuckled. No matter how much she tried to eat, she never seemed to gain any weight. She rubbed her eyes. It had been a long day, and the adventures with the barrier had been very stressful.

"Blimey," she said. "I'm tired. They probably won't let me skip out early, will they?"

"You won't be able to get in the dormitory," Hermione supplied. "No password."

"Right," Harry said. "No luck, then."

Ron shrugged his shoulder - sitting down, he was still much taller than her. "You can take a nap on me, if you like. Mum and McGonagall both fed us today, so I'm about done. I'll wake you up when the feast's over."

Harry eyed him. "Alright, then." She sidled over, and gingerly placed her head against his arm. It was comfier than she expected, and the Great hall was so warm.

It was no surprise that she fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This has some definite AU elements, mostly around Harry's femaleness, and Tom being replaced by Cecilia. Voldemort is very similar to canon - more on her later - and first year and the summer between first and second went mostly the same. Other than these obvious things, there are a decent amount of background changes, mostly to avoid rehashing canon too hard. I'm also skimming or indirectly referencing stuff from the books, that's remained unchanged, mostly because again, I don't want to re-hash too much. There is also a decent amount of headcanon and worldbuilding, mostly because Pottermore can be generously called a steaming turd, and some of the new things introduced in the Fantastic Beasts movies annoy me.
> 
> In some ways, this story is reactionary to those things. In others, it's inspired by stories I've read and enjoyed. There are definite concepts that I've really enjoyed, and decided to emulate - consciously or unconsciously. The works of Inwardtransience and Silently Watches come to mind, but it's very likely that there's more. And Cecilia's name comes from Descent, because it's wonderful, and I found the reasoning for it charming.


	2. The Diary

The next morning, Harry joined Hermione and Ron, ambling down to breakfast. The school had one grace day in between arrival and the start of classes, so there was no real rush.

"What are your plans for the day?" Hermione asked Harry and Ron, sliding in front of the table.

Ron shrugged. "Dunno." Harry and Ron took seats across from her, and Harry slid over a plate of bacon.

"I was going to head to the library, actually." She planned to use at least some of the day for Cecilia - catching her up, so to speak, on current events. Her friend had admitted that time spent in a diary was often not particularly fulfilling, so she didn't want to isolate her too much.

Ron and Hermione both looked at her as if she were insane.

Feeling defensive, Harry busied herself with the finishing touches on her bacon sandwich. "I just wanted to look some stuff up. You know, about the wizarding world. I realized from seeing your family just how much stuff I missed out on, I guess." It might be more accurate to admit that Cecilia had pointed out how little she knew, because there were so many questions the diary asked her that she couldn't properly answer.

"That's very responsible of you, Harry," Hermione said.

Harry blushed, furiously. Ron sniggered, and rolled his eyes. "Now there's two of them," he muttered.

"Very funny," Hermione said. "I think it's wise of her to admit her ignorance."

"I want no part of this," Ron protested. "Maybe I'll go see what Fred and George are up to."

"I'll go with you, Harry." Hermione looked far too eager at this. Harry was less enthusiastic about this, mostly because Hermione would want to know every little thing she was up to, but Harry didn't really have a good way to dissuade her. She could pretty easily disguise the diary as a notebook, anyway.

She popped the last bit of sandwich in her mouth. Hermione wasn't done yet, so she picked at some eggs.

Fifteen minutes later, they were settling down to the table. Harry decided to start easy, with _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , Cecilia's diary spread out next to it.

_Hi,_ she wrote. _I'm in the library, looking up some of the stuff you asked about._

_Hello, Harriet. That's very kind of you. Are you at Hogwarts, then?_

_Yes. It's great to be back. Hogwarts always feels like home._

_It was for me, too._

Harry couldn't help the smile that tugged her lips, at that admission. _I don't blame you, she wrote. The orphanage sounds horrible. But enough about that. I was going to tell you more about the war, with Voldemort. Hagrid told me that everyone was scared of her, but_ Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _doesn't have any numbers._

_That doesn't surprise me very much,_ Cecilia said. _I'm not entirely sure witches and wizards know what statistics are._

_What are statistics?_ Harry asked.

_They're a muggle invention. For example, let's say that a wizard wants to study and try and prove that muggleborns are inferior, and worse at magic. How would they go about trying to do that?_

_I dunno. My friend Hermione is muggleborn, and she's the top student in the class._

_Well, one single example isn't enough. A good way to try and prove something, would be to make a record of a bunch of different classes of Hogwarts, over a bunch of years, and compare the average scores of muggleborns, vs the average scores of purebloods. If they found, for example, that purebloods' scores are higher, they might be able to use that to say that purebloods are better at magic._

_But purebloods aren't better at magic,_ Harry protested. _Malfoy thinks that, but he's just a bigot._

_I'm not saying that's true, that was just an example. But, because no one's done a study like that - at least as far as I am aware - we can't say for certain either way. One study might not even mean we could definitively say so either way. Proving it - or at least as far as muggle science can prove things - would mean that a bunch of people would do a bunch of studies, in different parts of the world, or at different times, with as many participants as possible, and if all the studies said something similar, we could say that's true._

_That sounds very confusing,_ Harry admitted. _But I think I get what you mean. Using numbers to back up the things you say._

_Yes. Statistics is very complicated - a good study in muggle terms might account for people like your friend Hermione, or they might use something other than average scores - I believe that while muggleborns might struggle initially, they are likely to be on the same level as purebloods by fifth year, when students at Hogwarts take the O.W.L.s._

_So, at first, they might be behind, but they'll catch up. That makes sense to me._

_It might, but I don't know this - I don't have a study to back this up. It might be something I'd set out to prove, however._

Harry frowned. _Thanks for explaining, but what does that have to do with the books about the war?_

_You don't have to thank me, Harry. It's what I'm here for. I've noticed a trend in witches and wizards. They seem to use lots of anecdotes instead of facts, which can make it hard to pin down exact numbers on stuff like this. I wanted to get a sense for how many followers this Voldemort had - how many people supported her? How many people opposed her? How many people were indifferent? Stuff like that._

_Why does that help?_ Harry asked.

_Well, if most people think Voldemort was right, then I'd imagine there might be a lot of people willing to support her if she ever regains a body. If the opposite is true, then she will be less of a threat. In the wizarding world, people like Voldemort or Dumbledore are going to be a very big difference by themselves, but the number of supporters they can gather around them is, arguably, more important._

_So, if it was just Voldemort, she'd be less of a threat?_

_Yes._

_I don't know if I'm going to be able to find a book that says how many people supported Voldemort,_ Harry wrote.

_Unfortunate,_ Cecilia agreed. _What about important battles? Or other dates?_

_It says that the Death Eaters attacked a lot of muggle areas - towns or villages, or such. They also attacked people in their homes - lots of times, they used something called a Dark Mark. I guess it's a sign? Lots of wizard people's houses would be attacked, and they'd find the Dark Mark. Looks like they never attacked Hogwarts, but they attacked Diagon Alley a few times._

_None of that is very helpful. Sorry. I know that's not on you, but I guess we won't find much information this way._ Cecilia's writing was a bit cramped, there, as if she was rushing to reassure Harry.

Harry appreciated the gesture. _I'll go look for some different books, then. Give me a minute._

She stood up, and collected _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , returning back to that section. There really weren't a ton of books about recent history. She returned a few minutes later with _A Modern Wizarding War: 1975-1981_.

Paging through it, it had a few more details. _I found a different book,_ she wrote. _This has some more details. Not a lot, though. Some stuff about trials._

_That's very helpful,_ Cecilia wrote. _How many?_

_A bunch. There are a lot of people who got sent to a place called Azkaban. And some people claimed that they were under something called the Imperius Curse._

_Azkaban is a prison. The Imperius Curse is a spell that allows one person to control another. Those people who claimed that they were controlled - were their trials before or after Voldemort was vanquished by you?_

_They were after. Why?_

_The Imperius Curse is not very easy to maintain for an extended period of time. It would make sense for Voldemort to Imperius some people, particularly people in positions of power, but doing it on too many people at once is bound to go wrong. It's possible to break the spell, and that could go very wrong for Voldemort. If she was using it on a lot of people, it is far more likely to that at least one person would have broken out during the war._

_But if she died, then wouldn't the spell break anyway?_

_Yes. That's a good point._ Harry's cheeks burned with pleasure. _But it's also very possible that those people were just using it as an excuse not to go to jail. Given the numbers of people involved, it's unlikely that they're telling the truth._

_Oh. That's what Mr. Weasley said about Mr. Malfoy._

_Malfoy? I knew a Malfoy, in school. He was a ponce._

Harry giggled. Hermione looked up at her.

"What are you giggling about?" she asked.

Harry shrugged. She wasn't sure how to explain the joke in a way that didn't reveal her talking diary. Hermione glared at her, eyes narrowed, for a while, before she returned her eyes to her book. It was a thick book on potions ingredients. To Harry, it looked very boring.

_Okay,_ she wrote. _It looks like there are a bunch of Death Eaters that got out of jail. No names, though._

_Does it say how many people were accused?_

_No. It just mentions the imperius, but not everyone got off with that - some people named names, and others had people vouch for them? That doesn't really seem like it should be enough, honestly._

_I agree. Does it say who did the vouching?_

_Uh, Dumbledore._

_Typical. Dumbledore is a famous and powerful wizard, so his word is believed. I wonder if there was any evidence, or just Dumbledore's testimony._

_Why is that a bad thing?_ Harry felt sort of silly, asking so many questions, but Cecilia was always willing to explain, and she never made Harry feel stupid for asking.

_Well, Dumbledore would probably be the first person to admit he's not infallible. But the problem with a system of knowledge that's based on authority is that there is no fact-checking. I don't mean to pick on Dumbledore, but who knows what his reasoning for wanting these people free. Maybe he's been hoodwinked, or he's under the Imperius Curse. There's lots of ways to spell someone to make them do what you want. A love potion, even - those are legal, after all._

_So, you'd do something like the statistics thing instead?_

_Yes. More concrete evidence, at least. Something physical, that another person would be able to verify. Does it say what they were accused of?_

It didn't say. _Being a Death Eater? It says that it was hard to prove who did what, unless they were caught in the act, because they all wore masks._

_That's a problem, too. This Voldemort made some wise moves. I think I'm getting a good picture, now._

Harry frowned. _If I'm being too forward, let me know, but I wanted to ask you something._

_Yes, Harriet?_

_I was just wondering - you seem to have something against Dumbledore._

_You are as astute as ever, Harriet. Cecilia had a teacher who singled her out and disliked her, when she was in school._

_What did she do about them?_ Harry deliberated, and then decided to go for it. _You can't mean Dumbledore?_

_Yes, it was Dumbledore. Back then, he taught Transfiguration. She did nothing - she attempted to be the best student she could in his class, but he never stopped suspecting her of nefarious deeds._

_What? Why?_

_I'm afraid she made a poor impression on him, when he visited her to tell her she was a witch. At the orphanage, the children were cruel, and she often retaliated with accidental magic, until she learned to harness the accidents. Then, she sometimes would use her magic to deter them from doing it again._

Harry bit her lip. That didn't sound so bad.

Cecilia continued, _I do not wish to whitewash her actions. By the time she was eleven, no one was willing to cross her. She used magic to make them stop, and Professor Dumbledore saw that, when he visited her. He has distrusted her ever since._

_But she was a kid,_ Harry said. _I think if I could control my magic, I might have used it on the Dursleys._

_I think she might have gone too far. It is often people who are abused, who become the abusers themselves. At eleven, she just wanted to be left alone, and she was perfectly willing to hurt people to make sure she was. I'm not proud of it - Dumbledore was not entirely wrong, to single her out._

_Well, there's a teacher here that hates me because of my father._ For better or worse, she didn't really blame Cecilia. Harry felt like she couldn't say that she would have done much different, in the same shoes. _But I guess that makes sense. I still think he should have forgiven you, especially if you were only defending yourself._

_I cannot, in good conscience, say that she was solely defending herself. She wanted them to fear her._ Privately, Harry felt like the Dursleys could use a little more fear of her.

_Still,_ she wrote. _Did you want to know anything else about the Death Eaters?_

_Do you have a list of how many Death Eaters are in Azkaban?_

_No, not really. It mentions a couple of them. The Lestranges, Crouch, and someone named Sirius Black._

There was a pause, at that. _Why are those people mentioned, when others aren't?_

Harry read further. _Oh. It says that Rodolphus Lestrange, Rabastan Lestrange, Bellatrix Lestrange, and Bartemius Crouch, Jr. tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom to insanity. I know a Longbottom. His name is Neville - he's in my year in Gryffindor._ Hands shaking, she asked, _Are those his parents?_

_It is certainly a possibility. I'm sorry, Harry. That sounds very tragic._

_I had no idea. I mean, everyone laughs at him for being clumsy and forgetful._

_I think,_ Cecilia wrote, her letters carefully formed. _That it might be best to let him speak about this on his own. Don't say anything._

_I won't._ Harry promised. _Black killed someone named Pettigrew, I guess._

_Oh?_

_That's the only thing listed. It's a bit weird, that he's right up there with the others._

_Maybe there's more to it. I think, Harry, it might be best if you learn to defend yourself sooner, rather than later._

She wasn't wrong. It was a little bit daunting, learning about all those people.

Cecilia was writing again. _Still, that doesn't sound like Voldemort had an overwhelming amount of support. In fact, almost all the names you mention are pureblood families. You mentioned before that Voldemort hates muggles, so it seems like her support base was almost purely from old wizarding families. That's a good thing, I think._

_How so?_

_Well, most witches and wizards aren't from old wizarding families. There are muggleborns, of course, but most of the old families are dying out. I think, by now, most people are the type that wouldn't really support blood purity, simply because most people aren't pure by their standards. From what you've told me about your fellow students, it seems like there are comparatively few children of Death Eaters, compared to children of non-Death Eaters._

Harry frowned, again. _There aren't that many, no. No one named Black, or Crouch, or Lestrange._

_That's good. That means, unless she starts winning, not many new people will join her. And given that many of her supporters are in jail, she will need to build up a support base. We have time, before she actively starts hunting you._

Harry managed a weak smile. _I suppose you want to get started, then?_

_Yes. I think it might be best to teach you spells, first. There are a couple ways of doing that, but the easiest way would be to show you._

_How?_

_When she was a student, Cecilia discovered a room that could be manipulated, to the owner's wishes. I can show you that. When she created this diary, she enchanted a configuration of that room to interact with it. I would be able to take a physical form, to demonstrate magic, or to teach you to duel._

Harry's mouth moved soundlessly. _That's very cool. So I'd get to meet you in person?_

_Yes._

_Please. Can we do it now?_

_Of course._

* * *

_I want to find a place where I can use the diary._

_I want to find a place where I can use the diary._

_I want to find a place where I can use the diary._

Harry looked up. In front of her, a tall, ornate wooden door appeared, and she stepped forward, wrenching it open. It felt like there was some magic in the door that let her open it more easily, because it definitely felt like it should have been harder than it was.

She stepped inside. It was a warm, rectangular space, with a bay of balconies on the far wall, sunlight filtering gently into the room, and every other available space on the walls inset with bookcases. Most of the center of the room was inlaid with a shallow dip, pentagonal in shape, set an inch lower than the rest of the floor. Around it, there were hundreds of thin runes, carved into the floor, shimmering gold. On the right, there were a few more bookshelves, but most of the space was dominated by a collection of low-slung couches, looking comfy and squished and red. On the left, there was something like a shooting gallery, with a human-sized dummy and a number of smaller targets.

Harry glanced over these things, obviously impressed. This was a cool room. She skipped over to the right side of the room, over to a wooden pedestal, and placed Cecilia's diary on it, where it glowed gold, once.

A scuff from behind her made her whirl around.

Harry almost didn't believe it, because standing there, was Cecilia. Harry's first thought was _tall_ \- Harry was not very tall, but Cecilia positively towered over her. She was pale, with a sharp, pointed face, and very long, thin fingers, and a shock of jet-black hair, like Harry's. But where Harry's was a mess pile of curls and tangles, Cecilia's was long, smooth, and wavy.

Harry found it hard to be jealous, because Cecilia was smiling, a small, satisfied little thing, and her eyes crinkled. Harry, who sometimes smiled when she didn't feel like smiling, recognized it as real. She found herself smiling back.

"Hello, Harriet," Cecilia said, her voice as careful and elegant as the rest of her.

"Hi," Harry squeaked. It was one thing to have a helpful diary of an older girl, and quite another to have the older girl herself, standing in front of her. She glanced over Cecilia again, eyes burning, before she realized something.

She was wearing a Hogwarts uniform, but it must have been an older one - her skirt was much longer, and the robe wrapped around her, like a full-body robe that she sometimes saw more traditional pureblood girls wear. But that wasn't what caught her attention.

"You're a Slytherin," Harry breathed, heart in her throat.

"Of course," Cecilia agreed. "And you are a Gryffindor."

"But-" Harry started. "Everyone I've met before in Slytherin is awful, though."

"I suppose I'll have to break the trend, then."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that. Malfoy was horrible, but none of the rest really seemed to defy the stereotype. But did this mean that she couldn't trust Cecilia? Cecilia herself seemed… careful? reluctant? She was very conscientious in the way she spoke, patient and willing to back off if Harry wasn't ready for something.

It occurred then, that she was rather trusting of Cecilia - she didn't know for sure, whether she could trust the Diary on its own. The Diary certainly wanted her to, but that was what Cecilia herself had said, wasn't it?

_You don't know something for sure, unless you can back it up, with as many corroborating things as possible_. So, no, she probably shouldn't trust Cecilia, not when she only had Cecilia's word for it.

She looked at the ground, then back up at Cecilia's face.

"I, er-"

Cecilia was smiling, wider this time, even as she sat on one of the couches. "You've come to that answer, haven't you? I'm a Slytherin, so you can't trust me?"

"No...?" Harry tried to deny, even as she dropped into another.

Her hands spread, gesturing around as she spoke. "It's alright. You've noticed that you can't trust me, because the only evidence you have of my trustworthiness is my own word. You have some evidence that I'm trustworthy, but not enough - we've known each other for only about a week or so, and I could be influencing your mind every time you write to me.

"And since," here, her smile got even wider, a full-blown thing, "you're not stupid, you've taken my advice, and you're not going to trust something when you have no other evidence to back it up."

"Oh," Harry said, uncomfortably aware that nothing Cecilia said was wrong.

"It's alright," Cecilia said. "I understand. It's a good thing, actually. It means you're listening. Ironically, it means you trust some of the things I say. Of course, that's a murky road. You don't want to trust everything I say, because even I have warned you against doing so, but if you distrust everything I say, you won't get anywhere either."

There was a long silence, where Cecilia was still smiling.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling unaccountably guilty. She looked down at her feet again.

"Don't be," Cecilia said. "You have no reason to apologize. You're being clever. However, we need to decide how to proceed from here."

Harry nodded.

"The first thing I would suggest would be this: Stop using the Diary altogether. Put it somewhere, in your trunk, and act as if you don't have it at all, for at least as long as you've been using it. And if the way you think about it changes, then you'll know you can't trust me."

"But…" Harry started, but thought better of it.

"No, please, go on."

"But if I can't trust you, and you are trying to manipulate me for some reason, then the safety measures you suggest might not work," Harry said, slowly, deliberately. "Does that make sense? Like, if I really can't trust you, I also can't trust the things you suggest."

"I suppose you can't," Cecilia admitted. "Then, the best thing might be to find a responsible adult. Of course, I don't want you to do that."

"No?" Harry asked. "That, uh, seems like a big red flag."

Cecilia laughed, high and warm and amused. "Of course it does. Allow me to explain myself. The primary reason, of course, is that if you were to bring this to an adult, particularly in Hogwarts, it would inevitably end up in the hands of Albus Dumbledore. I am afraid that any item of Cecilia's that comes before him will not be viewed in an unbiased light.

"The second, and rather more alarming reason is that Cecilia used dark magic to create this diary," Cecilia said, her mouth quirking into something that looked an awful lot like a smirk.

"Uh," she said. "That's another red flag. You're really not helping your case here, you know that?"

"I would argue that it is better for you to know what you are getting into, than not," Cecilia said, crossing her arms. "I am not actually sure that it is still dark magic, at least by the legal definition."

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so she kept silent.

"When I was in school, most people still used that definition - it is useful, from a teaching perspective. A school would not want students to use magic that is illegal, after all."

Harry nodded.

"However, another, similar definition is that dark magic is magic that can exclusively be used to cause harm. I think you'll find that this is important, for our discussion. Firstly, the ritual Cecilia used to imbue the Diary with my presence might fall under both definitions of dark magic, but the ritual that your mother used to imbue you with her protection would likely be only dark magic using the first."

Harry frowned. "So, since my mother wanted to protect me, that didn't count?"

Cecilia made a so-so motion with her hand. "Yes, and while the protection harmed Voldemort, it did not do so actively. It reflected her curse. Therefore, it's something that isn't necessarily harmful. If no one had killed Lily Potter, or attacked you, no one would have died."

Harry nodded. "I think I understand that. Why is your ritual harmful, then?"

"The ritual I described is necessarily harmful because it requires a sacrifice - a life, to bind the diary with a fragment of Cecilia's personality," Cecilia admitted.

"You killed someone!?" Harry half-shrieked.

"She killed some _thing_." Cecilia said. "It was an animal."

"Oh," Harry said. "Okay."

"You are so easily convinced?"

"Well, yeah," Harry said. "It's hard to describe. I don't really know what to say, I guess. I understand your reasoning, sorta."

"Oh." For the first time, Cecilia looked confused. "So, okay, then. I had a whole explanation on dark magic planned. I was gonna demonstrate different cutting charms and…" she trailed off.

"Well, I guess that's pointless, now."

"Can I see?" Harry asked.

"Uh, sure," Cecilia said, eyes shifting around. "First, well, there's a - the best way I can describe it is a safe word. If I ever do something you don't like in here, it's quite simple. Just say, 'mordant,' and the room will close, and deposit you and the Diary outside of it."

"Alright," Harry agreed, wondering if she'd ever need such a thing.

"Good," Cecilia smiled, and she stood up again. "But, you should probably go to dinner. We've been here for long enough." True enough, when Harry glanced over at the balcony, the light filtering in was stained with the warm gold of late afternoon.

"Oh," she said. "I'll just go, then. But I'll be back."

"I'll be here."


	3. On the Subject of Dueling

Harry did not get a chance to write in her diary again, or re-visit the Room, until much later. Ron and Hermione had accosted her once she showed up to dinner, and she spent the evening in the common room watching Ron, Fred, and George play with bouncy balls that would multiply with each bounce. Half of Gryffindor was there, too, even Hermione, even if all she did was sniff disapprovingly and bury her face in a book.

The next morning, however, Harry had Herbology, first thing. She was not pleased, holding a tiny, squealing plant-baby up while Ron desperately shoveled dirt with his hands, both of them wearing pink fuzzy earmuffs.

Next, she was cornered by a positively miniature Gryffindor with a camera, who insisted on taking pictures of her, and asked her to sign them more than once.

Of course, Malfoy heard this, and made things twice as bad, but at this point, that was just par for the course.

All of this might have been tolerable, if it weren't for the presence of one Gilderoy Lockhart. He cornered Harry before Herbology, lectured her about signed photos, and even, had the gall to quiz them on the books for his class.

This might have been acceptable, even preferable, from a professor, except for the fact that the questions weren't about magic, the monsters themselves, or the strategies he'd used to stop the monsters in his books.

They were about him - the man himself, and Harry found him embarrassing. Maybe there was something wrong with her, because it seemed like she was the only girl that wasn't half-in-love with him, Hermione included. Harry tried, but she couldn't see it. Maybe, too, it was partly because he was so in love with his fame, and Harry wanted nothing to do with hers.

Or maybe, she just wasn't wired right.

In the second half of the lesson, when he let loose a horde of pixies, all Harry could think was that Cecilia would come up with a way to stop all the pixies at once. Instead, she and Ron and Hermione spent almost an hour rescuing Neville and getting the pixies back in their cages.

They didn't bother with Lockhart's wand, fool that he was.

During the week, Harry was able to squeeze a few chats in, in the Diary, but it was hard to sneak away to the room.

It was only Saturday afternoon that she managed to make it up to the seventh floor corridor, again, dragging her feet from the crack-of-dawn Quidditch practice that Wood had started.

Inside, she summoned Cecilia. Interestingly, Cecilia had somehow updated her uniform - instead of the old-fashioned full-body robe, she wore something like what Harry wore now - a shirt, vest, and skirt, with tights underneath, all covered by an open robe.

"Hello, Harriet."

"Hi, Cecilia," she said. "It's been a long week."

"Oh? Tell me about it."

Harry grumbled, and threw herself onto the couch. "There are two more menaces in my life, named Professor Lockhart, and Colin Creevey."

"So, the new Defense professor isn't what you hoped for?" Cecilia asked, settling into an armchair next to Harry. She folded up her long arms and legs into the chair, effortlessly elegant.

"No, he's awful! He started the first class with a quiz about all the things he likes!"

"That's… very strange," Cecilia said. "What kinds of things?"

"Stupid things! Like his favorite color or his perfect day or other crap!" Harry was nearly shouting, but it was awful. Lockhart was awful.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Cecilia said, gently.

"I don't either. He makes us buy his stupid books and he's not gonna teach us anything. It's awful."

"His books?"

"Yeah. He wrote like a whole bunch of books about his adventures or some crap. And he made us read them but he didn't quiz us on any of the Defense stuff. he just quizzed us about _him_ ," Harry huffed, and exhaled in a huge burst. She was just so angry, at the fact that he was a teacher. Quirrell had been pathetic, but Lockhart wasn't even trying. "What is Gilderoy Lockhart's favorite color? What is his perfect day? What is his lifelong dream?"

"He does indeed sound absolutely awful," Cecilia agreed. "But I'll teach you all kinds of Defense against the Dark Arts. Dueling, and everything."

"Thanks," Harry said. "But… no offense, but you shouldn't have to! Is it some plot to make sure everyone is terrible at Defense?"

Cecilia laughed - a high, clear sound. "I'm not sure. But it would be a brilliant move by Voldemort, wouldn't it?"

Harry forced a smile, but her heart wasn't quite in it. "All the girls like him, too. Hermione and Ginny and Mrs. Weasley. I don't get it, though."

Cecilia picked up on what she wasn't saying. "Maybe you just see him in a different light."

"I dunno," Harry said.

"There's nothing wrong with being different, Harry."

Harry glanced down at the floor. She shrugged.

"Well, do you want to learn some magic?" Cecilia asked.

"Yes!" Harry shot up.

"Alright," Cecilia said, ditching the outer robe of her uniform, leaving her in just a shirt, vest, and skirt. Harry did the same. "I think, it might be best for me to evaluate what you do know." She led Harry over to the large, depressed area in the middle of the room, bending down and tapping the edge of the circle with her wand. "But first, the demonstration you requested last time.

"I'm going to cast three different spells, all of which are similar. One of them is dark magic - by the ministry's definition. You're going to tell me which one." She glanced at Harry, who nodded.

"First: _Diffindo_." Cecilia made a small slashing motion, and a thin blade of blue light pulsed forward, splashing against the ward boundary.

"Second: _Lacero_." Again, the motion was similar, but the arc was bigger this time, and the light was a deep red. It was much quicker, and when it hit the edge of the arena, the fizzling light was much brighter, and the noise crackled, like sizzling bacon. It was almost like the spell was fighting the ward, until there was a soft pop and a flash of green light, and then the spell was gone.

"Third: _Bifexum_." This time, Cecilia made a wide, sweeping motion, and the arc of light was at least four feet wide - almost as tall as Harry. It was orange, but a dull, burnt orange, with purple light trailing behind it like some perverse negative.

This spell was by far the most impressive, and it impacted the ward barrier with an enormous _crack_ , and Harry could see the faint green outline of a bubble, being pushed outwards by the spell - it had lost almost none of its size, or its shape. It seemed, for a long second, that the spell was going to pop the bubble, until the bubble itself seemed to flex, the green darkening and then the spell was gone.

"Cool," Harry said.

Cecilia gave a small bow, and a flourish.

She smiled. "It's lovely to have such an eager audience. Now, tell me which you think is dark magic."

Harry wasn't sure.

"I want to say it's the third one," she said, fiddling with her tie. "Because, uh, wow. But since this is like, a teaching thing, that means it's a trick question. So, the second?"

Cecilia beamed. "Yes. The Lacerating Curse is illegal. That's because it's designed to be used on humans, and the purpose is to shred muscle. If you were hit with it, it would be a cursed wound, and it would resist magical healing. The only way would be through physical therapy - rebuilding those muscles the hard way."

"That's nasty. But that means - that third one is legal?" Harry was having trouble seeing it.

"Yes. It's called the Demon Cutter, originally designed for hunting Manticores. It's a monster hunter's curse - something that is not technically illegal in Wizarding Britain, mostly because it's incredibly foolish." She smiled wryly. "Demon Cutter or no, it is likely that most wizards would die in a close encounter with a Manticore. They're incredibly fast and resilient."

Harry recalled that particular spell. If people were unsuccessful against monsters with _that_ , she guessed she could see why.

"So, if you used it against someone, would it kill them?"

"Oh yes. You could probably use it very effectively to cut down trees, as well. But if the Ministry banned every spell that could conceivably be used to hurt someone, then, well, we wouldn't be learning very much magic at all."

Harry frowned. "Last year, Ron and I knocked out a troll with _Wingardium Leviosa_."

Cecilia was getting into it now. Harry noticed that she had something of a lecturer's pose, when she talked - back straight, arms clasped loosely behind her. Sometimes she paced, from side to side.

"Setting aside the fact that you fought a troll, of all things, yes, that is exactly what I mean. The first spell, _Diffindo_ , is something you'll likely learn this year in Charms class. It's a bit like a magical pair of scissors, mostly for cutting or severing small things, like cloth, or parchment. But you can certainly kill someone with it, if you hit them in the right place, just like you can kill someone with a pair of scissors, if you properly apply the force in the right place."

Harry nodded. "So, the Lacerating Curse is dark magic because it's designed to hurt people."

"Yes," Cecilia said. "Or, perhaps, it's more accurate to say that it's dark magic because it's only use is hurting people. It's a rather cruel spell - designed to hurt someone permanently, to maim them. The Demon Cutter, brutal as it is, is not cruel. It is more like a Muggle chainsaw - brutal and certainly capable of murder, but a tool designed for a specific purpose. Of course, this isn't a perfect framework - there are many spells that are dark magic, but this framework doesn't explain."

Harry asked, "Wait, so how does the Ministry determine what spells are illegal and which aren't?"

Cecilia rolled her eyes. "I have no idea. I am not a sitting member of the Wizengamot, after all. You should ask someone other than me, though, because I think many of the classifications are stupid. There are many areas in which we disagree."

"Okay," Harry said. "I'll think about this."

"Good," Cecilia said, and she gave Harry that small, genuine smile again. Harry could tell that most of Cecilia's expressions were careful and cultivated, but sometimes, when she was truly pleased, her eyes creased and Harry knew that it was genuine. "If you were in a duel with another witch, what spell would you cast first?" she asked.

"Body-bind?" Harry asked.

"Show me," Cecilia urged, gesturing at herself.

"You want me to cast it… at you?"

"Yes. Now, get to it, before I hex you, instead."

Harry raised her wand, squinting hard. " _Petrificus Totalus!_ " she shouted. The jet of light was immediate, and Cecilia batted it aside with her wand, and it bounced into the side of the pentagon's boundary, where it fizzled with soft green light.

Harry hadn't even seen her cast a spell. "Can you show me how to do that?" she asked.

Cecilia smirked. "I can, but it's rather advanced for a second-year. But your spell wasn't bad - nice bit of power in it, and it would lock down someone completely, unless they were capable of dispelling it wandlessly."

"Wandlessly?" Harry asked.

"Sufficiently powerful wizards can do some magic without a focus. A _finite_ is one of the obvious things to learn first," Cecilia explained. "But for your age, that's fine. Now, I think we should focus on learning some useful spells for dueling, and get you used to moving around. Some traditional duels don't allow for that, but they're stupid."

"Like, you can't avoid spells?"

"Technically, you're not supposed to move your feet. It's all dodging and shielding," Cecilia explained. "So, we'll start with the simple things." She raised her wand. "I'll go easy, with Stinging Jinxes."

Harry gulped. When the flash of light came, she twisted to the side, just barely. The second, however, nailed her in the hip.

"Ouch!" she hissed.

"Move faster, then," Cecilia said.

"I had Quidditch today, already!" Harry complained.

Cecilia just raised an eyebrow, and then said, "Voldemort won't care if you had Quidditch." And then she shot another Stinging Jinx at Harry. She didn't dodge quickly enough.

Harry winced again, and forced her exhausted feet to move.

* * *

Harry was thoroughly exhausted, when she collapsed into bed that night. But she couldn't wait to do it again.

Harry, surprisingly, found herself busy - Quidditch, classes, and spending time in the Room, with Cecilia. Hermione and Ron had asked where she kept disappearing off to, of course, but something in Harry held back on telling them.

Cecilia was hers - and Harry, who was so willing to share things, who so rarely had things of her own to share, for the first time, wanted something to herself. So she'd just laughed, and made an excuse about reading in a secluded corner of the library.

October came, and with it a spate of wind and rain. Harry was roped into attending Nick's Deathday Party on Halloween, and regretted it immensely, but they did manage to return to the feast, and loaded up on desserts. Harry had far too much treacle tart, and narrowly avoided a full interrogation by Snape, who felt that attending Deathday Parties was very suspicious.

This was par for the course. Harry only nursed her anger, and resolved to pay it back by destroying Slytherin in the first match of the new Quidditch season. Of course, this plan was stymied: a rogue bludger that seemed completely out for her blood.

She caught the Snitch, of course, but Lockhart got to her before Madam Pomfrey did, and she spent the night in the Hospital Wing.

Dobby made an appearance, tearful and confused, and apologized profusely for all of the things he had done, and admitted: he had thought there was a danger coming to Hogwarts, but Hogwarts was strangely danger-free. Harry was glad of this: she might have preferred an elf looking after her, but Dobby's help so far had mostly accomplished the exact opposite.

Of course, the end of the autumn term brought with it something Harry found herself very excited for: a notice of a Dueling Club had been posted in the Entrance Hall. Harry was excited - Cecilia had been teaching her this exact thing for two months, and finally, finally, she'd found an academic subject that she excelled at.

Dueling Club, then, was a chance to show off. And she could not wait.

When she returned to the Great Hall that evening, however, she was to be disappointed.

Lockhart was standing up on top of the stage, wearing a stupid-looking doublet and an even stupider-looking grin.

"Welcome, welcome!" he said. "Professor Dumbledore has granted me permission to start this little club, to teach you all how to defend yourselves!

"First, let me introduce my assistant, Professor Snape!" Snape strode onto the platform, looking sleek and dangerous, in his black robes. "He's agreed to help me with a quick demonstration, before we begin."

"Think they'll finish each other off?" Ron asked.

"We can only hope," Harry agreed. "Don't think Snape is dumb enough to murder someone in front of half the school, though."

"Just our luck," Ron said.

Snape's lip was curling as they lined up against each other, on the platform. Harry noted, with some trepidation, that Lockhart insisted on an elaborate bow before they began. The platform itself was long and thin, and there was unfortunately very little space for moving around. Harry had almost doubted Cecilia when she described dueling like this, but seeing it for herself, she could tell already that this wasn't going to be what she was hoping for.

At the mark, Lockhart waved his wand like the idiot he was, but Snape snapped his forward, and yelled, " _Expelliarmus!_ " A crimson jet of light shot out and smashed into Lockhart, sending him flying through the air to impact the wall, his wand spinning from his hand.

"Do you think he's alright?" Hermione asked.

"Who cares?" Ron said.

"He'll be fine," Harry said. "The Disarming Charm isn't intended to cause injury."

"How do you know that?" Hermione stared at Harry, almost accusingly.

"I told you, I've been doing a lot of studying," Harry said. "It was a lot of this sort of thing - useful spells and a bit of dueling."

"Really?" Hermione didn't look convinced.

"Yeah." Harry grinned at her. "Just watch."

"Is that so," Snape said from behind them both. "Perhaps, Miss Potter, if you are so capable, you would not object to partnering with Mr. Malfoy."

"I would love to," Harry purred, _"Sir."_

Snape just raised an eyebrow. "Quite. Mr. Weasley, you pair with Mr. Finnegan. Miss Granger, with Miss Bulstrode."

Harry stepped away, eyeing the pale, pointed face of Draco Malfoy. She held her wand, loose, and kept her weight balanced on the balls of her feet.

Cecilia had mentioned a hex, and Harry had remembered it, specifically, to use on Malfoy.

"Face your partners!" Lockhart called. "And bow!"

Harry and Malfoy barely inclined their heads to each other.

"Three - two - one, and go!"

Malfoy went on two. It was only two months of being repeatedly hexed by a sadistic diary that allowed Harry to dodge to the side.

" _Flyet!"_ Harry shouted. The yellow wad of magic hit Malfoy directly in the chest.

He raised his wand to curse her back, but she just stood there. "Wibbly Bibbly!" he shouted. Nothing happened. Harry laughed. "Jiggery Pokery!" Harry laughed harder, even as he tried cursing her, over and over, and nothing came out.

Lockhart tried shouting for attention, but Harry was too busy laughing to care. _"Finite Incantatem!"_ Snape's voice cut through the air, and the chaos around them disappeared.

Malfoy stopped babbling and immediately shot Harry a scathing look. Harry just grinned at him. Ron bustled over, and rescued Hermione from Bulstrode's headlock, forcefully separating the two.

Lockhart tried to rope Neville and Justin Finch-Fletchley into a demonstration, but Snape of all people had a good idea, and put up two sixth years instead.

To Harry, it seemed as if Snape was attempting to rig the match - the Hufflepuff, Callahan, was pudgy and nervous-looking, while the Slytherin girl, Selwyn, that he put up was infamous for hexing people in the corridors. She had a short bob cut and wild-looking, protuberant eyes.

Lockhart attempted to demonstrate something, but Harry, even with her recent instruction, had no idea what. Callahan looked even more confused at the explanation. Selwyn just looked eager.

Lockhart counted them down. Selwyn started on two, and when Lockhart said, 'go,' Callahan was flipped through the air, flying backwards to land on his face, just off the side of the platform.

A couple more Hufflepuffs went to help him up, and Lockhart looked around, awkward. "Er, well, that's all for today."

Harry glanced around, at Ron and Hermione. "Let's go?" she offered.

Ron grunted, "A club taught by Lockhart is completely useless. What a surprise."

"It's not useless!" Hermione protested.

Harry put in, "The only thing we actually learned today was from Snape."

"Exactly," Ron said. "You've gotta admit it, Hermione, we don't actually learn anything from him."

"If he's such a horrible teacher," Hermione argued, "How come he's done all the things in his books?"

"Not everything written in books is the truth, Hermione."

Hermione didn't say anything in response. She just shot Ron an absolutely filthy look in response.

"I just want to know how Harry knows so much about dueling," she said.

Harry shrugged.

Ron put in, "I saw what you did to Malfoy, mate."

"It was just a Babbling Hex," Harry said. "If he can't cast spells, he can't curse me."

"Who are you, and what have you done with Harry?" Hermione asked. "The girl I know wouldn't read ahead to save her life."

Harry looked at the ground, frowning. "Well, considering Voldemort, I think that might be a real distinct possibility in the future."

"Oh," Hermione said, deflated.

"Don't worry, Harry," Ron reassured her. "We'll practice with you, if you like."

"Sure," Harry agreed. "I could show you some stuff, sometime."

"Definitely more useful than _Lockhart,_ " Ron sneered.

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione said. "You're just jealous."

"As if."

* * *

After the Dueling Club, most of the student body left, for the holidays. The Weasleys stayed behind, and, to Harry's surprise, so did Malfoy.

Of course, Malfoy wasn't about to let humiliation like that go. He cornered her, a few days before Christmas, when she was returning to Gryffindor tower from the Room.

"Get her!"

Harry was ready for him, however, and he didn't have the reflexes to dodge out of the way of the thick, yellow gob of magic.

True to form, the Babbling Hex was very effective on Malfoy _._ Harry was overconfident - Crabbe and Goyle were terrible at spellcasting, and with Malfoy completely disarmed, Harry figured that she had won.

Of course, she hadn't quite accounted for the fact that she was a tiny, underfed twelve year old girl, and while Malfoy's goons were terrible using wands, they were large boys, two of the largest in the year.

Harry nailed Crabbe with a Full Body-Bind, and he toppled, but Goyle caught her, then, ripping her wand from her hand and threw it down the hall.

Malfoy grinned. He knew, by now, that he wouldn't be able to cast spells, and Harry had taken out one of his minions, but he still had the edge up on her.

Goyle grabbed her, and Harry struggled, halfheartedly. This was a situation in which she was familiar: Dudley had often made his goons chase Harry, and hold her while he pummeled her. So, even though she was in the arms of a large, thuggish boy, she wasn't afraid.

Malfoy stepped forward, gesturing to Goyle. Harry could tell in a heartbeat he wanted Goyle to dispel the hex on him, but Goyle frowned, and opened his mouth.

Harry bolted. The trick to getting away from holds like that was to go limp, and lull them into thinking you wouldn't try to run, and then rip yourself away when they were distracted.

"Bunkey Monkey!" Malfoy shouted. Goyle turned around to stare at Harry, but she was halfway to her wand. She risked a glance, and ducked out of the way of whatever spell he sent.

"Kingfisher scum!" Harry wondered whether Malfoy was sick of talking in gibberish yet. She retrieved her wand, and spun.

" _Petrificus Totalus!_ " The spell hit Goyle, and he toppled over. " _Rictumsempra! Digentas!_ " The Tickling Jinx and the Finger-Removing Curse both hit Malfoy. Harry, once she saw him laughing, fingerless, curled over in obvious discomfort and humiliation, wondered if it might have been too much.

But, it was too late to back out now. Harry didn't want to wait to stick around and get in trouble when Malfoy inevitably went whining to Snape, so she bolted - past Malfoy, past the corpselike bodies of Crabbe and Goyle, and down the stairs, all the way to Gryffindor tower.

She tucked herself into a couch, next to Ron, and said, "I've been here for a few hours, alright?"

He just nodded. "Have we been playing chess?" he asked.

"Yeah, sure," she agreed.

He went up to the dormitory, and returned a moment later with a chess set, placing pieces until the board was half-full. He gave Harry the advantage, so she had no reason to complain.

"So, what did you not do tonight?" Ron asked.

"Well," Harry explained. "I have been in the common room all evening, and definitely not on the seventh floor, dueling with Malfoy and his goons."

Ron paused. "You alright?" he asked.

"Of course. If I had been there, I'd be able to reassure you that someone - no one knows who, mind - jinxed both his goons with Full-Body Binds, and left him there under the effects of a Babbling Hex, a Tickling Jinx, and a Finger-Removing Curse."

"Ah," Ron said. "Nice one, mate."

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Harry, sagely.

Fred and George came in a few minutes later, right when things started to go wrong for Harry in wizard's chess. Half her problem was that Ron's pieces certainly did not like or trust her.

"Harry's been here for the last few hours," Ron said.

"Sure she has," Fred agreed, his tone casual.

"Lost to you a good few times in chess, too, from what we hear," George added.

Harry grinned.

When McGonagall turned up, face pinched, they were sitting around the fire, the four of them.

"Miss Potter," she said. "Professor Snape has accused you of cursing some of his students this evening. I told him that this accusation was unfounded and foolish, but duty compels me to ask.

"Where were you this evening?"

"I was here, pretty much all night," Harry replied. "Ron and Fred and George can back me up."

"Yeah," Ron agreed.

The twins nodded, dutifully.

Professor McGonagall eyed the four of them carefully. Eventually, she nodded.

"That will be all." She swept out of the room.

"Bloody hell," Fred said.

"You've been naughty, ickle Harrykins," George added.

Harry laughed. "Picture this: Snape, the greasy dungeon bat, is alone, in his office, oiling his hair and practicing the dramatic robe swoop. He hears a knock at the door. Grumpily, he answers it, and finds Draco Malfoy, doubled over, tears of laughter in his eyes and spouting gibberish.

"He performs a quick finite, and Malfoy stops laughing, and can speak normally, but, as he soon learns, Malfoy doesn't have any fingers. Those are still up on the seventh floor, with Malfoy's wand, and his goons, both of whom are under the effects of Full-Body Binds."

Fred and George had identical, pleased grins on their faces. Ron chuckled under his breath.

"Of course, Harry Potter has been in the Gryffindor common room all evening, so it couldn't possibly have been her, right?"

"Definitely not," Ron agreed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always did think that the Diary's goals didn't necessarily make sense. It seems to exist as a weapon, initially, and then, it tries to eat Ginny to become a real boy again. Which, okay - if it's a weapon, that's one thing - maybe better used when Voldemort's back and can properly make use of the crisis at Hogwarts, but we can chalk that up to Lucius acting without orders. But if its goal is to resurrect itself - or come to life, with a solid body, attacking students under the nose of Dumbledore seems somewhat foolish. Then again, he doesn't really solve the problem, but still. These two goals seem somewhat mutually exclusive. Once you count the later revelation (planned or no) that it's a Horcrux, it seems more likely that it was supposed to eat Ginny and escape Hogwarts, rather than attack Muggleborns, and couldn't contain itself.
> 
> On some level, this is Tom Riddle in a nutshell, despite Dumbledore's claim that he doesn't have feelings. He's ruled by them, ultimately.
> 
> As for Cecilia... well, you'll see.


	4. The Magic of Wandless Magic

The rest of the year was quiet - Harry, surprisingly, spent most of the time studying magic, either tossing spells at Ron and Hermione (and sometimes the twins and Ginny, too), or learning as much as she could from Cecilia.

Gryffindor scraped a narrow win against Hufflepuff, and by the time the Ravenclaw match came around, they were bound to win the Quidditch Cup, unless they lost by 130 points. At that point, all Harry had to do was keep Cho Chang off the Snitch long enough for Gryffindor's superior Chaser team to pull ahead.

For the first time since Charlie Weasley graduated, the Cup sat in McGonagall's office.

Harry was legitimately surprised that it was such a quiet year. Other than Malfoy attempting to corner her for a beating, the only highlight of the year came when Lockhart announced that he intended to return as Defense Professor again next year. Ron groaned, and even Hermione wasn't as pleased as she might have been at the beginning of the year.

The next day, he slipped and cracked his head on the edge of his tub. He'd not been found for hours, but Dumbledore announced at dinner that evening that he could not remember anything of the last few years, and would likely be unable to return as Defense teacher.

This announcement was met with more cheers than were perhaps entirely appropriate.

When the sign-ups for next year's classes came around, Harry chose Care of Magical Creatures, a class she would share with Hermione and Ron, and Ancient Runes, after Cecilia showed her something called Runic Casting, a way of scribing runes in the air to cast spells. It wasn't really much like wand magic - it was older, and much more dangerous.

But, sooner than Harry would have liked, she was back, stepping through the door of Privet Drive. She had Cecilia's diary tucked into one of her pockets - it was far too valuable to risk the Dursleys locking it away, unlike everything else.

She ducked into her room, and shut the door, curling up on the bed. It was the first day back - if she hid, and pretended that she wasn't there, hopefully the Dursleys would be content to pretend that she didn't exist, as well, at least until dinnertime.

_Hey, Cecilia._

_I take it you're no longer at Hogwarts, then?_

_Yeah,_ Harry wrote. _I hate it here. The Dursleys hate magic, and they've locked my trunk and the rest of my school supplies away in the cupboard under the stairs._

_That's despicable._

_I was sort of hoping that you could show me how to pick locks._

_I can show you how to do that, yes, but I can also show you much, much more. By the time I was old enough to attend Hogwarts, I could move things, cause pain, tell when people were lying, and speak to snakes. If you want them to leave you alone, you must become proficient in at least the first, likely the first two._

Harry grinned. _I can talk to snakes. I set a boa constrictor on my cousin once. It was great._

…

For the longest time, the Diary said nothing. Harry wondered if she'd said something wrong. Talking to snakes wasn't that weird, right? She really wasn't sure what to do if Cecilia rejected her at this point.

 _I'm sorry,_ she wrote.

 _You have nothing to be sorry for. I've just never met another Parselmouth in Britain before. It's an honor._ For once, Cecilia's impeccable handwriting was shaky, and loose.

_What?_

_It's an incredibly rare gift, one that is passed through blood. This means… we're related._

_Oh,_ Harry wrote. _How?_

_I don't know. I suppose it's possible that we aren't, but Salazar Slytherin was famous for his ability to talk to snakes. That's why the symbol of Slytherin house is a snake. If you can as well, it's likely that you're related to him, just as I am._

_Oh,_ Harry wrote again. _I'm glad. I've never had family that I've been pleased to have been related to._

 _Me neither,_ Cecilia agreed. _I wouldn't be embarrassed to acknowledge you._

_Gee, thanks._

_I suppose it's possible that we're not. I would be surprised if you weren't, at least indirectly. As a Potter, it is statistically unlikely that at least some trace of his bloodline hasn't found its way into you, in a thousand years._

_I am probably more closely related to him - I found out in my fifth year that I am the last surviving member of a family that was well-known for being descendants of Slytherin. But, it's also possible that your talent comes from elsewhere - you're definitely dark-skinned enough to have a close ancestor, if not a parent, from most of the places where Parselmouths are relatively common - India, Southeast Asia, and Egypt._

_My father has the same color skin as me,_ Harry wrote back. She knew that from the picture book Hagrid had gotten her at the end of last year.

_Interesting. I didn't know anything about the Potters marrying outside of Britain. But that's not in any way a guarantee, genetics can be weird sometimes, and I confess that I didn't know any Potters in school, so I was unlikely to have met them. And of course, you could just have a recent ancestor from those places, and your Parseltongue comes from Slytherin. Or you could have some Black in you - I think there was something about a Black marrying into the Potters? I'm not sure. Cecilia didn't keep up with news much, after she left Britain, but you hear things, sometimes. They have some talent for Parseltongue, so you could have gotten it there._

Cecilia visibly cut herself off. _I digress. There's no way to know for certain. Either way, we are both Parselmouths. I am very pleased. Does anyone know that you are?_

_No one. My cousin might suspect, but he's a Muggle, so he doesn't count. Why?_

_I was just worried - In Britain, Parseltongue is considered a dark talent. The reasoning for this is based entirely on uninformed prejudice, but it is still something you will likely have to deal with if your talent becomes common knowledge._

Harry opened and closed her mouth, soundlessly. _That's stupid. By any of the definitions you offered, there's no way it's dark magic. I was born with it - is there, like, some powerful dark spell that you can only cast by using it?_

_No. As far as I am aware - and Cecilia travelled extensively in India and Persia, to many places where the gift is common - it is useful in a few healing rituals, and that is it. I suppose it also is very helpful for creating passwords, as well._

_That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard._

_I agree. Now, perhaps you understand a bit more about why I find the majority of common discourse on dark magic to be profoundly unsatisfying._

Harry frowed. _But, I don't - I understand you think that stuff like Parseltongue shouldn't be dark magic, but what about that Imperius Curse? or about - I read in_ Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _that the Dark Arts twist your mind, and that they're addictive._

_Harry, that book is full of propaganda. I think spells like the Imperius should be illegal, but I also think that love potions should be illegal - they both take away someone else's free will. However, one is a potion and the other is a dark curse, so only one of them is outlawed by the Ministry. I still think that hurting other people, or taking away their free will should be illegal, but I fundamentally disagree with the way the Ministry chooses to regulate those things._

_Alright,_ Harry said.

_To your other concern, there is slightly more substance. I think what that book is referring to is the way that most powerful magical spells are gratifying to cast - in essence, it feels very good to cast powerful spells, much more so than simple ones. This leads most people, when they start using spells like the Cruciatus, to be more likely to use them in the future. And yes, that can create a strong feedback loop - the better it feels to cast magic, the more you are likely to use it. However, this addiction is merely psychosomatic - there is no physical component at all, and the only withdrawal that a witch or wizard might feel is in their own heads._

_This results in people who outwardly look as if they have their minds twisted, and are addicted to using those spells. This, however, is not a guaranteed outcome. Like most things in magic, it's a question of willpower. If you are sufficiently mentally disciplined, you can ignore the feelings that those spells give you. That's all it is - it heightens the feelings that are already present, but it does not lead to someone becoming a raving psychopath simply by using these spells._

_In fact, I would argue that decriminalization of these spells would_ help _the people who use them become less dangerous to society, because I believe the antisocial behavior displayed by people who can use dark magic is as much or more of a product of the stigma behind them as it is the effects of the spells themselves._

Harry asked, _Is that something you've statistically proven, or is that just a theory?_

 _You are correct. That is only a theory. However, it is not a theory that I have come up with in a vacuum - it is the result of Cecilia's travels to many other countries, and observing the differences in how they regulate magic, as well as researching a number of similar concepts in Muggle philosophy and criminology. Stigmatizing dark magic in this way is just another way of controlling people - crazy people have no power, after all. In fact, 'crazy people have no power' is a very simplified summation of a book called_ Folie et Déraison: Histoire de la folie à l'âge classique, _written by a muggle french philosopher. His theories on systemic oppression are fascinating - all of his books are._

_Oh. Why haven't you written a bunch of books and become Minister of Magic, then?_

_I wish I knew._ Harry immediately felt a pang of regret, at that statement.

_I'm sorry._

_It's alright,_ Cecilia reassured her. _I have no idea what happened to my original. The last time she wrote in the Diary was over thirty years ago - in 1958. But we've gotten off-topic. Think on what I have said, Harry, but first - would you like to learn how to open a lock the Muggle, or the magical way?_

_Magic, please. I already know how to do it the Muggle way._

_Good. To explain, the technique for wandless magic is very simple: forget everything - forget incantations, forget wand movements, forget that spells exist at all. To do this, you must influence the world through the power of your will alone. To cast a shield, build a wall with your will between you and the incoming spell. To move something, reach out with your mind and move it through sheer determination._

_Is it really that easy?_

_No. It is simple, but it is by no means easy. However, moving a lock is comparatively unchallenging - a nudge, inside the mechanism, should be enough. That's a good place to start. All magic is willpower, Harry. Wandless magic is just an extension of this maxim._

_Okay. I'll give it a try._ Now all she had to do was wait.

* * *

Harry spent the next few days attempting to make magic happen as much as she could. It was not as simple as sitting alone in a dark corner, attempting to move things with her mind. That, by itself, wasn't enough.

Not long after she started, she realized that wandless magic needed something to latch onto, both figuratively and literally. It wasn't enough to sit with a small spoon and attempt to move it with her mind, because, when she was alone, she didn't _need_ to move that spoon with her mind. It was too far removed, from what she wanted it for. To get it to work, she theorized that she'd need to be in the moment where it was necessary.

This was easier said than done. Harry could hardly sit in the front hall, staring at the lock on the cupboard under the stairs for hour on end. The Dursleys were already suspicious of her, from glancing at it whenever she went by.

So, after conferring with Cecilia, Harry adjusted her approach. _'This kind of magic will only arise from necessity, Harry. Your analysis of why you couldn't achieve it is spot on,'_ she'd said. This was easier said than done, however.

Harry was spending a lot of time in the kitchen, lately. This was because the Dursleys had gotten Dudley an extra television set for the kitchen, since he was complaining about the walk between the couch and the refrigerator. So, Dudley spent most of the summer in the kitchen, getting fatter.

Thus, Harry spent a lot of time in the kitchen, trying to collapse Dudley's chair. Of course, the Dursleys found this suspicious, but they couldn't possibly guess what she was actually up to, so, instead, they shot her searching looks every time they came in.

However, since she didn't make much noise, or really cause trouble at all, her presence became unremarkable.

Until, of course, Harry figured it out.

She had to _want_ it. Not just wish it could happen, not just feel as if it might be helpful. Harry had to need, it had to feel, completely, with every fiber of her being that it was _necessary_ for the chair to break.

Harry was usually a quiet, mild-mannered person, but to achieve this, she had to make herself _really_ want something nasty to happen to Dudley. It wasn't quite as simple as just wishing him ill, or wanting him to leave her alone. She spent hours upon hours, dwelling on how fat, how stupid, and how cruel he was.

It took two whole weeks, but one lazy afternoon, Harry looked at Dudley, perched in his thin, wooden chair, stuffing his face, five chins wobbling, and broke the chair from under him.

With an enormous _crack_ , the chair fell, and he tipped over himself, and tumbled to the floor, like an enormous bowling ball falling into a gutter.

Harry grinned - she felt elated, she felt powerful, like the whole world was at her fingertips. With a glance over at the TV, it tumbled from its perch, smashing onto the floor.

"GIRL!" Uncle Vernon roared. She looked over at him, standing in the doorway, and realized how this must look. She was sitting there, wide smile on her face, while Dudley wailed on the floor, chair collapsed under him, and the TV smashed onto the floor. "How dare you!"

He lumbered over, and lifted her by the scruff of her neck, and dragged her from the room. She tried to focus on the heady, sick feeling in her chest, and make him drop her, but he wouldn't let her concentrate, dragging her along, tugging and jostling her as roughly as he could.

He practically threw her into the room. "And stay there!" he roared.

Harry gingerly picked herself up, and then collapsed onto the bed, taking the Diary out from underneath the covers.

 _I did it,_ she wrote.

_You did? That's wonderful. Tell me about it._

_I made Dudley's chair collapse from under him. It felt_ wonderful _. I can hardly describe it - like I was powerful, like I could do anything. I really had to hate him, though._

_Yes, that's not surprising. Powerful emotion will serve you well here. You will want to focus on that feeling - that feeling of strength, of feeling as if you are teetering on the edge of control. If you can repeat that, you can master this skill._

_I am impressed, Harry. I did not expect you to be able to master it this quickly. Well done._

Harry glowed with pride. _Thanks. The Ministry didn't send an owl, either._

_Of course they didn't. They think it's accidental magic, the fools._

Harry grinned. This was shaping up to be a much nicer summer than the last.

* * *

Uncle Vernon was not quite as stupid as he looked. He kept a very close watch on Harry, in the next few days. Harry, of course, knew that it was best not to give the Dursleys any reason to suspect her, so she went along with the gardening, and the hoovering, and the laundry with her usual dry resignation. When he turned his back, however, she dug deep into her resentment and tried to capture that hot, slick, sick, feeling, when she was capable of doing magic.

She tripped him, she enchanted the fridge and the drawers to jab him in the side, and she knocked things out of his hands, whenever she could. In the few days since she had figured out the secret to the magic, Vernon had knocked her around her more times than the entire last summer combined. He never really _hit_ her, not with the full force of his body, but rather, he casually whacked or pushed her, enough to hurt, but not to leave a mark.

Petunia, too, noticed her shoes shrinking, her food spoiling, and her garden wilting. She wasn't as physical as Vernon, but she wasn't shy about summoning him if she suspected Harry of something.

Finally, Harry offered an ultimatum: no more funny business, if they finally treated her like a decent human being. After a few days of grumbling, and worse harassment, they gave in - Petunia took her shopping, and stopped asking her to do chores, and fed her as much as she liked.

Of course, she should have seen it coming. Harry was in the backyard sitting on the bench near the back garden. Dudley had ambled up, intent on harassing her. The deal didn't include him, so he hadn't quite gotten the message yet. Like most lessons, it needed reteaching frequently. She tripped Dudley so that he spilled his cone all over his front. He started to cry, and ran off to find his parents.

Uncle Vernon returned, with two strange people: a man in a suit, and a man wearing a dress shirt and slacks. The suited man was tall, and thin, with black hair that was graying at his temples and a leather briefcase. The other man was shorter, stouted, and had a shock of rich brown hair.

"This is her," Vernon grunted.

"Hello, Harriet," the suited man said. "I'm Dr. Fitzsimmons. This is Dr. James." He indicated the other man. "Can I sit?"

Harry looked at Uncle Vernon. There was something cruel and dangerous in his eyes. She felt a curl of fear, easing down her back.

"Alright," she agreed.

The man stepped forward, and awkwardly folded himself to sit beside her.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. His tone was mild, but Harry didn't trust it one bit.

She just shrugged.

"I'm going to need an answer, Harriet," he said.

"Why are you asking?"

Something closed off, behind his eyes. "There's nothing to worry about." That statement only made her more nervous. "Your uncle's just been concerned about you."

Harry glared over at Uncle Vernon. "Whatever he's said, it's not true."

"Why do you say that, Harriet?" he asked, his tone still mild.

There were a million reasons, but not all of them would make sense to this man. "He hates me. If he says he's concerned about me, it's because he's got some plan to get rid of me. He'll say anything."

"Why do you think your uncle hates you?"

Harry rolled her eyes. "Why don't you ask him?"

"Harry's convinced that Petunia and I hate her because she's a witch," Uncle Vernon said. "We've tried - we took her in, and we treat her the same as Dudley, but we're not sure what else to do."

"Liar," Harry hissed.

"What do you think he's lying about, Harriet?" Fitzsimmons asked. Harry hated the way he said her name - like she was some wild beast liable to snap and try to maul him at any moment. Cecilia said her name slowly, affectionately, like she was special.

"He's always favored Dudley more!" she snapped. "Until I was eleven I slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and they made me wear all of Dudley's old clothes, and do all the chores and make them breakfast every morning."

For a long moment, no one said anything.

To Harry's horror, the first one to break the silence was Vernon. "Would you like to see her room? And the cupboard under the stairs? We have nothing to hide."

"We would love to," Fitzsimmons said.

Harry had spent the morning outside. None of the Dursleys had disturbed her, until Dudley, and she thought that was a bit weird, but she never expected anything like _this._ Uncle Vernon led the three of them through the house - showed them a dusty cupboard full of perfectly normal, mundane things, with no evidence of any child living there and her room, which was filled with a collection of perfectly normal, girly things - all of her school things were still carefully locked in her trunk, away from prying eyes.

Even the locks from last summer were gone. Harry might have been impressed, if it wasn't so obviously designed to set her up.

They ended up in the living room - Harry didn't know how the Dursleys had done it, but the storm of photos of only Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia, and Dudley were gone - in their place, there were three tasteful photos of all four of them - Harry looking happy, nudged between Vernon and Dudley.

Harry huddled into the armchair, feeling a low, terrified curling in her gut. "So, that's your game," she said, injecting as much hatred into her voice as possible. "You're saying I'm crazy."

Vernon's concerned expression didn't change. "We just want you to be well, Harry."

"Harriet," Fitzsimmons said, his unnervingly mild tone still present. He lounged on the couch, hands at his sides. "I think it's time for some answers. How are you feeling today?"

"Betrayed," Harry said. "Angry."

"Why is that?"

"Because my uncle is trying to have me bloody _sectioned!_ " she shouted. "He hates me! He hated my parents! Aunt Petunia was always jealous of my mum-" she cut herself off, before she said anything else. She couldn't explain anything about magic, because he'd already claimed that she was delusional.

"Why was your aunt jealous of your mother, Harriet?" Fitzsimmons asked.

"Mum was prettier and more popular," Harry said, snarling. "Aunt Petunia always talks about it - about how my mum dated foreigners, like my dad wasn't British, because of his skin. And they're pretending, not to care. But they do! You don't want to hear what they call me, sometimes - no one at school cares, what I look like!"

"Alright," he acquiesced, looking a little uncomfortable. "Have you been thinking about hurting people, lately? Like your uncle, or your cousin?"

It was all she'd _been_ thinking about, to try and get her magic to work. "No."

"How about hurting yourself?"

"No." That answer was even true, too.

"How about taking me through your daily routine?" He picked up his right leg, and folded it across his knee.

Harry eyed him. She shrugged.

"I don't do very much. Mostly just homework, or sitting and contemplating the mysteries of the universe."

"Thank you, Harriet. Now, can you tell me about your school? Your uncle has told us that you attend a boarding school in Scotland."

Harry shrugged again. "It's school. I get decent grades, have plenty of friends. What else is there to say?"

"Do you like it there?"

"I stay every Christmas and Easter, and dread the summers. I can't wait to go back."

"Why is that, Harriet?" Fitzsimmons asked.

"Because they hate me. This summer's been better, because-"

"Yes?"

Harry shrugged again.

"Hariet, I want to help you. I can't help you if you lie to me."

"I'm not the one who's lying!" she shouted.

Fitzsimmons gestured around. "We've seen some evidence that you're not being truthful with us already."

Harry huffed. "You don't want to help me. You're just here because Vernon just wants me gone, since he can't control me anymore."

"Why can't your uncle control you anymore?"

"I'm not afraid of him anymore," she said, as if he was thick.

"Why?"

"I dunno," Harry said. "Sometimes that happens, you know, when you grow up."

Uncle Vernon cleared his throat. The sound filled Harry with a sick, horrified feeling of foreboding. Magic wouldn't help her here, though.

"I think I can shed some light on that. I called you here, Doctor, because she's become increasingly erratic and violent." He unbuttoned his shirt, leaving him in a vest top, showing a number of bruises on his arms and back. He lifted up his top, too, and showed off a large, yellow bruise on his side.

Harry couldn't help the growl that rumbled in her throat. How dare he - he was trying to paint her as psychotic. Her fists were clenched so tightly, she could feel pain from her nails digging into her palms.

"Don't you dare, you miserable-"

"I don't really know what to do, Doctor," he cut her off. "It seems to be tied with what she calls her 'magic.' She attacks me, or her cousin, and calls it magic."

"He's lying!" Harry shouted. She could feel herself shaking with anger, now - the urge to snap Vernon's pudgy bones was almost overwhelming, but there were muggles, she had to hold back. "He's just trying to get rid of me! He just wants to give his fat pig of a son his second bedroom back!"

"How does the magic work, then?" he asked.

Harry rolled her eyes. "As if I'm going to tell you."

"So you admit that you have magic, then?"

"No!" Harry yelled.

"Why are you shouting?" Fitzsimmons asked, tone still just as mild. "If there is no magic, there's nothing to be upset about."

Harry forced herself to say nothing, because any response at this point was a losing one. She fisted her hands in her shorts, and stared at the floor.

"Harriet, you can tell us. I just want to understand - I promise that none of us will repeat what we hear."

She forced herself to stay calm, and think about talking to Cecilia. Cecilia always made her feel better - she'd never betrayed her, like pigshit Vernon.

"Harriet, I need you to answer me," Fitzsimmons said, his voice still full of that damnable pseudo-calm.

Harry didn't say anything.

"Harriet?"

Silence.

"Alright," Fitzsimmons said. "Dr. James, Mr. Dursley, perhaps it's best if we talked about this somewhere else."

They stood up, and trouped out of the room. The moment Harry heard the door to the living room close, she bolted out of the chair, up the stairs, to her room. She grabbed Cecilia's diary, and forced her magic up, and into the diary. She needed it hidden in plain sight - she needed no one to think of it as anything other than just a diary. She _needed_ that, with everything that she was, and everything that she might be.

She needed that, because she was afraid - afraid that she might lose Cecilia forever, afraid that she might never be able to go back to Hogwarts, afraid that damnably calm man would come back and pronounce her mentally insane.

She summoned the hot, sick, rising in her chest, and fed it into the diary. She opened it, and penned a few quick words:

_Vernon's trying to have me committed to an asylum. I've tried to conceal the diary, but they may take it from me._

_Don't worry. I am not without my defenses._

Harry shut the diary, and tucked it into the pocket of her shorts. It fit far more easily than it should have. She grabbed a piece of loose paper, and scrawled a short note on it, to Ron.

_Dursleys trying to have me committed. If you don't hear from me soon, send help. -H_

She then went to Hedwig's cage, and opened it up, reaching in. Hedwig hopped on her arm.

"I'm gonna need you to hang out at Ron's for a day or two, wait for things to blow over," Harry said. Hedwig gave her an inquiring look, and then an affectionate nip.

Harry snorted, and then brought her to the window, tossing her out.

"Go on, girl," she said.

Finally, she turned to her trunk, packing everything still out away, including her wand. Most trunks had a function where they could be only unlocked with a wand - a simply safety precaution against Muggles breaking into Hogwarts trunks when they weren't supposed to. Harry's had an optional password, which she'd bought two summers ago and never used.

Now, it was coming in handy. She could set a password, that would open the trunk when the command was uttered.

She tapped it with the wand. "Password: _Open._ " The last word was hissed, in parseltongue. She opened it again, and then placed her wand gingerly inside of it, and re-sealed it. Finally, she shoved the trunk under the bed, and forced her magic into the trunk, to conceal it from any nosy Dursleys.

Preparations complete, she stepped back down the stairs, feeling oddly light and loose. The visitors and Vernon had returned to the living room.

Harry looked around, at all of them. "So? Am I crazy?"

Dr. James shifted uncomfortably, but Fitzsimmons was the one to speak. "We have conferred, and we've agreed that it would be helpful to detain you for an assessment period, under Section 2 of the Mental Health Act of 1983.

"This is only an assessment period of no more than 28 days. After that time, if we will re-evaluate if detainment is the best option," he explained.

"Whatever," Harry said. "Are you going to haul me away, now?"

"Harriet, unless you actively resist us, no one will be dragging you anywhere."

Harry didn't say anything, just offered her arms as if he was handcuffing her. Vernon stood up, and clapped a gentle hand on her shoulder. She flinched.

"It'll be alright. I'll drive you."

Harry glared at him.


	5. Coloring

The building was, improbably, exactly what Harry expected it to look like. It could have been an old school building, with two impressive wings, a central bell tower, and long, sweeping drive.

Vernon was still pretending to be a supportive uncle, so he'd helped her pack up a bunch of her new clothes and shoes. He parked along the drive, and tried to walk her up with a hand on her shoulder, but she moved away. She couldn't bear the thought of him acting like that - familiar, fatherly. The sun had begun to set, while they drove, illuminating the world in shades of orange and yellow.

Fitzsimmons was there, waiting at the doors, smiling slightly. Harry sneered at him. Self-righteous prick.

Vernon shook his hand, and then they were inside - a tall, broad-shouldered man met them behind a desk.

He asked for her information, and Vernon supplied him with a number of facts about her - her height, her weight, her age, a completely fabricated medical history. Everything. She wondered just how long he'd been planning this - it had to have been a long time. The room was relatively simple, and so was the cupboard, but this medical history, and those photographs that had been on the mantle - those would have taken time and money.

"Alright, Miss Potter, you should say goodbye to your uncle. I don't doubt that he will be back to visit soon, so don't worry," Fitzsimmons said.

Harry glanced at Vernon. He clearly was going for a hug, but she stopped him, before he could get close.

"I'm going to make you regret this," she whispered, darkly. "Not today, and not tomorrow, but one day - they can't keep me here forever. The freaks will be back for me, eventually. Even if it takes me _years_."

She turned around, and stepped over to Fitzsimmons, an expectant look on her face. He nodded over her head, presumably to Uncle Vernon, and led her through the door at the end of the room.

He first took her to a small, featureless room, where a woman with dark skin and thick black hair waited.

"Hello," she said. "Miss Potter, my name is Pareesa Ghaderi. I'm one of the nurses here, and I'll be doing your intake. Thank you, Dr. Fitzsimmons."

"Of course," he said, smiling and stepping out.

"Now - Miss Potter - can I call you Harriet?"

Harry was grateful that she'd actually asked, so she rewarded the woman with a smile. "I prefer Harry, actually."

"Of course, Harry. If you'd like to call me Pareesa, that would be fine. Now, I want this to be as comfortable for you as possible, so first let me tell you what we're going to do: I need to check you and your belongings for contraband. We'll look through your bag together, and then I'll need you to strip for me."

Harry felt her face go red. This woman was perfectly nice, but this was a horrible reminder that this place, even if it was full of perfectly nice people, was still a prison. She was still here, against her will, not allowed to leave.

She nodded, shakily, and placed her bag on the table, unzipping it and letting the contents spill out. She'd brought very little - mostly just extra sets of clothes, and a few toiletries. As she looked over it, she cursed herself again for not seeing this coming. Aunt Petunia had been suspiciously willing to let her get whatever kinds of clothes she wanted, so she mostly had shorts, or trousers, and even a few thin hoodies.

"You don't have anything else in here?" the nurse asked.

"No." Harry shrugged. She considered it, and realized that it would probably be more suspicious to not have anything. She pulled the Diary from her pocket, and placed it on the table. "That's the only thing I have. It's, uh, my diary."

"Alright, alright," Pareesa said. "That's the only personal effect you have?"

"I have a pen?" Harry offered.

The woman laughed. "Unfortunately, you can't keep that. I'll trade you, though, for a felt-tip pen." Harry offered it, and she handed hers over. "The other thing is - I can't let you keep any ligatures." Here, she took Harry's shoelaces, the drawstrings on her sweatshirts, the drawstrings on her pajama pants. "Or these," she took Harry's toothbrush, floss, toothpaste, deodorant, and her shampoo.

There wasn't really anything to do, except meekly hand it all over.

"Now, I'm going to have to ask you to strip."

Harry nodded, shakily.

Five minutes later, she was following Pareesa along a white corridor, and up a set of stairs, face still burning with shame. Walking was hard, because she no longer had shoelaces.

The ward was laid out over the second floor of the building - a central communal area, with two wings branching off it, leading to individual rooms. The central room was, filled with tables, chairs, and a collection of couches, all done up in aggressively bland beige, reminding Harry strongly of a Muggle doctor's office. There was even a glassed-off window, at the end of the room, with a shutter that was currently closed. On one wall, there was a phone, but it was currently in use - a thin, blue-eyed girl with no hair was talking, quietly, glaring at them with clear suspicion.

Harry's room was far-away, down the corridor. Inside, there was a bed with thin-looking sheets, a chest of drawers, and a lot more beige. Her own bathroom, though, with a press-and-hold shower, a toilet with no lid, and an awful plastic mirror.

The whole ward was suffused with chilly, stagnant air, lacking in warmth.

"This is your room," Pareesa said. "Since it's pretty late, it might be best for you to stay here tonight. Breakfast is at eight, tomorrow morning."

Harry nodded. The nurse finally left her alone. Harry tossed her bag aside, and kicked off her half-useless shoes, and crawled into the bed. From her pocket, she withdrew the Diary.

_Hey,_ she wrote, in the felt-tipped pen. _They won't let me have regular pens in here. Too pointy, I guess. I hope this is ok._ The bed was lumpy, and hard, and the sheets felt starchy, like they were made half of paper. Harry wriggled like a snake, trying to get comfortable.

_Hello, Harriet. It's fine. If I was corporeal, I would be happy to break you out of here and take you to burn down your relatives' house in a blaze of blood and Fiendfyre._ Cecilia's writing was jagged, and cramped.

_Thanks,_ Harry wrote, feeling her eyes fill with tears. She was grateful that they had waited until she was alone. _I'm really scared._

_I don't blame you. I am grateful that we are still allowed to speak like this, at least. If there is any kind of magic that would help you to learn, please let me know._

_I can't show anyone anything. They made me look crazy. I can't prove that I'm not, because that would require revealing magic to Muggles. Magic won't help me here._

_There has to be a way._ Cecilia's writing got even more frantic. _I won't let them do this to you, Harriet._

Harry smiled a watery smile. _Thanks, but I don't think you can. Vernon replaced all my stuff, cleaned out the cupboard, and changed all the photos in the living room. He planned it well._

_I don't care. You are_ _**not** _ _crazy, and I refuse to let them claim that you are._

_I know I'm not. I have you, after all._

_Yes, you do. I will not abandon you._ Seeing those words in Cecilia's careful, uniform penmanship put some of the tightness in Harry's chest at ease. _I think that there is frustratingly little I can teach you in a place like this, however._

_It's alright,_ Harry reassured her. _Just talking is enough._

* * *

At seven fifteen, an alarm rang, jolting Harry out of bed. She slowly picked herself up, ran her fingers through her hair, and shrugged on some clothes. It only took her a few minutes to get ready, so she sat on the edge of her bed, and penned a quick message to Cecilia.

_It's morning. Breakfast is in 20 minutes._

_Good morning, Harriet. I've come up with an idea. There's a branch of magic - two paired disciplines, technically, called Occlumency and Legilimency, that most people consider Mind Magic. Legilimency is the art of experiencing other people's thoughts and memories by looking through their eyes. Occlumency is the art of preventing another from doing so. I can teach you the focusing exercise for Occlumency, but we might have to get creative in actually practicing it. Legilimency, on the other hand, is easy to practice, but most conventional wisdom has you learning that discipline second._

_So,_ Harry wrote. _How will that work?_

_I have two ideas. Both of them will involve blood magic. Is that going to be a problem?_

_How illegal is it?_

_Blood magic is legal in some parts of the world, but nearly everywhere else, it is classed as a Dark Art. In Britain, both rituals would carry a ten-year sentence in Azkaban. This is very stupid, as some blood magic is legal to use in healing, and in fact, some are legal to use by Healers in St. Mungo's._

Harry felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. _Then that's a really bad idea, right?_

_Well, it's very unlikely we'll be caught. The Ministry cannot possibly monitor all magic performed in Britain_ _\- the way they do it, there are detection wards near those animals who call themselves your relatives' home. They are unlikely to have informed the Ministry of your change of address. Thus, the odds of them detecting it are rather slim._

_I dunno. I don't want to go to Azkaban._

_I understand. I don't want to pressure you into anything you don't want to do. The first ritual will imprint you with Cecilia's natural talent for Legilimency. It would come naturally to you, and I could help you focus it. The alternative would be us to create a sympathetic blood bond, a very small bit of blood magic, that allows me to attack_ _your mind. I prefer the first method, because it leaves your mind free of my continued influence._

_Either way, I have to trust you._

_Yes. It's not ideal. I realize I'm asking quite a bit, and I would have much preferred to have a number of precautions in place to prevent detection from the magic. I would also have preferred to have you read up on these disciplines on your own, beforehand, so you're not_

_trusting me so completely._

Cecilia continued, _More ways of verification, you see. Part of the problem now is that if I were attempting to control or possess you, either of these rituals would allow me to do so - your only source of information on these rituals is my own word._

_It's alright, Cecilia,_ Harry wrote. _I do trust you. What do I need?_

_Keep an eye out for anything that can symbolically linked to vision, or knowledge. A book, or a magnifying glass. We need at least three ingredients - your glasses can be a powerful one, if you're willing to part with them._

_My glasses?_

_Yes. The point of this kind of magic is that it's sacrificial. Using things that you find or collect for the ritual can be effective, but things that you use every day or are otherwise precious to you are also important._

_Alright,_ Harry wrote. _But I've got to go. I'll bring the diary with me, but I don't know how much I'll be able to write in it._

_Go on._

Harry stepped out into the hallway, sliding her door shut behind her. She padded down the hall, walking carefully due to the lack of shoelaces. In the common area, there were a bunch of girls scattered around eating breakfast, with a few girls lined up in front of the shutter, which was now open. A grumpy-looking woman with red hair scooped mushy porridge into bowls. Harry joined the queue.

The woman glared at Harry, but gave her some of the slop, and a plastic spoon. Harry took it, and sat at one of the tables, as far away from everyone else as she could.

The slop was like pretty much everything else in this place - bland and cold. Harry finished hers in record time, and sat, quietly, unwilling to meet anyone else's eyes. She didn't belong here, unlike the rest of them; she was perfectly sane, thank you very much.

She was half-tempted to pull out the diary, to speak to Cecilia a bit more, but it was the first day, so she wanted to be alert.

She sat there, with nothing to do, until the red-haired woman came and took away all the food. Harry was done, but a thin girl with long, beautiful blonde hair wasn't, and she meekly accepted the woman taking hers away.

The girls in this ward were all older teenagers - Harry was one of the youngest. She was short for her age, too, so she looked younger than she was.

The red-haired woman got up, then, and made them rearrange a bunch of folding chairs in a circle. Pareesa was there, too, and she shot Harry a quick smile, but she focused on making sure everyone got in the circle without an incident. Harry privately wondered how likely that was.

"Now, since we've got a new girl," a bunch of eyes flicked to Harry, and she felt her face go hot, "you're going to go all around, and introduce yourselves," she said. "And then tell us your favorite animal."

There were too many names and animals to keep track of - Harry tried, but twelve at once was too much. The girl with no hair was named Trixie, and she liked wolves, and dressed as much like a chav as she could without any 'ligatures,' as Pareesa had put it. The girl next to Harry, with cheekbones who could make a pureblood jealous, called herself Flicker, and liked bunnies.

When it was Harry's turn, she said, "Uh, my name's Harry. And I like owls." She missed Hedwig already. Ron would look after her - and the fact that Harry wouldn't mind him borrowing her to send mail wouldn't hurt.

The next girl looked older, and thinner, with dark skin and a lyrical, lilting accent that Harry didn't recognize.

"Name's Gin," she said. "I like elephants."

Pareesa's favorite animal was a cat, and the red-haired woman was named Nancy. She liked dogs, apparently. Once they were done introducing each other, Nancy smiled, and clapped her hands.

"So, does anyone have anything to share?" she asked. "Any concerns they'd like to mention?"

One of the girls raised her hand. Harry hadn't caught her name. "Trixie's trying to steal my boyfriend!"

"Am not!" Trixie protested. "I don't want whatever dickhead that'd go out with you, skank!"

"Settle down," Nancy said, but Pareesa stepped over to the girl who'd first spoken.

"Janey, please," she soothed. She bent down and whispered something into Janey's ear, but that didn't work - the girl leapt up, and threw herself across the circle.

Nancy went over to the office, while Pareesa tried to intervene. Trixie ducked and ran, and Janey chased her with a chair - they ran around the table, once, until Janey threw the chair and an orderly came back, with Nancy. He was a burly man, with broad shoulders, looking a bit like Dudley might, in a few years, if he got in shape. He grabbed Janey, and they took her out into the hall.

Harry was horrified. Was that - was that what everything was like, here?

Pareesa smiled, again, and asked if anyone had anything to say. Trixie just shot her a dirty look, and stormed off.

Gin stood up, and asked, "How come we never get any decent food around here? I think we'd all be better off with some good food."

"That's more easily said, than done," Pareesa explained. "But we can certainly talk to the staff and see if we can get some more variety on the menu."

Harry sat, and leaned back in the chair. The patients complained mostly about conditions - the food, the activities, the lack of a television, but Pareesa, as nice as she was, didn't have anything concrete to offer in return.

Eventually, there were no more complaints, and Nancy had returned.

"We're going to spend the morning nice and simple, with some coloring, and then after lunch, Mrs. Carr is going to come in, and play some cello for us. After that, we'll have a lesson about grammar. How does that sound?" she asked. This was apparently a rhetorical question, because she plowed ahead. "First, line up for your medication. Then you can color."

Harry dutifully got up, and lined up with the rest of them in front of the shutter. This time, Nancy was handing out small plastic cups filled with pills. Some people were allowed to refuse, but Harry overheard that only the voluntary patients were allowed to refuse.

She'd been sectioned, so there was nothing else for it. She downed the pills that came in her plastic cup without looking at them.

Pareesa was passing out a bunch of art supplies.

Harry got a book about sea creatures, and a set of crayons. She plopped down on one of the couches, out of the way. When she opened her book up, a body slipped into the seat next to her. She turned, and found herself face-to-face with another girl. Harry had met entirely too many people this morning, so she had no idea who this girl was. She had a plain-looking face, with brown hair, and dark eyes. The most distinguishing feature she had was her cute, small nose.

"I want the sea creatures," she demanded.

Harry narrowed her eyes. "What are you offering?"

"Solar system," the girl said.

Harry eyed it. It wasn't as good as sea creatures, but there was something to be said for strategic trades.

"Alright." The girl practically ripped the book from her hands, and scampered off. Harry shrugged, and opened the page to Jupiter. Harry opened her crayons, and took out yellow, brown, and orange. It would have been easier if she had more colors, she mused.

Harry would never had admitted it in a million years, but it was more soothing than she'd expected. It was… nice, in a soothing sort of way. Here, now, there was something simple to do. No Voldemort plotting to kill her, no Snape hating her for no reason, no Malfoy trying to corner her in the corridors, no Hermione nosing her way into every detail of Harry's life - and, perhaps most importantly, no Dursleys accusing her of making it all up.

The lower part of Jupiter was looking too orange to be entirely accurate, so she shrugged and made the top half green instead. The spot she colored purple.

"That's not what Jupiter looks like," someone remarked over her shoulder. Harry whipped around.

It was Gin, with an easy grin. Harry relaxed. It was a little thing, but she felt comfortable around her, partly because where she was bronze-brown, Gin was mahogany. She probably had been called some less-than-nice things because of her skin color, too.

"Everyone's a critic," she sniffed. "Besides, if they wanted me to use the right colors, they would have given me more than a pitiful 16."

"Good point," Gin said, sagely. "Scientific accuracy is for nerds, anyway."

"Too true. What are you coloring, then?" Harry asked. For a moment, Gin didn't say anything, just glanced blankly back, and Harry wondered if she'd committed some faux pas, but then she leaned back, and showed a brown pig.

"I didn't have pink," she explained. "Besides, everyone thinks pigs are pink, but some pigs are totally brown. It's not cool at all, mate."

"That's a good point," Harry agreed, and bent over her picture again, feeling inordinately cheered. "Sometimes pigs are brown."

Gin was content to let silence lie. Harry finished her drawing of Jupiter, and found herself unmotivated to keep going.

"Er, do we have to color the whole morning?" she asked.

"Nah, they just want you to sit quietly for a while. If you don't make lots of noise or wander too far, they won't make a deal out of it," Gin said. She'd moved onto a cow, which she was also coloring brown. Harry could see a pattern, there.

"Cheers," Harry said, offering her own brown crayon.

"All right," Gin agreed, pocketing it and shooting Harry a grin. Her teeth were slightly yellowed, Harry noted.

Harry took out the diary, and her felt pen.

_This morning's activity is coloring_ , she wrote.

_How droll._

_I think I might try and do some magic, later,_ Harry explained, _because if the Ministry don't notice, then you're probably right._

_Good thinking. How are you holding up?_

_This morning's been alright. I think I'm mostly going to be bored. As long as I'm quiet, the nurses seem content to leave me alone. Might be a bigger problem if I actually needed help, but for me, it works. I think I've made a friend, at least?_

_You're like a weed._

Harry gasped. _Hey!_

_You are hardy and capable of thriving in even the most inhospitable of conditions. I mean it in a good way, my little pest._

_You're teasing me._

_I am. More seriously, that's very good news. Remember, if you can find a textbook or reference book of some type, that would be ideal._

_Right, right. We've bonded over coloring books._

_That sounds exhausting, honestly. I am very glad the orphanage never forced me to endure such indignities._

_Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I think it might be a good thing that they sent me here,_ Harry wrote. _One awful summer, but it means that no one can send me back._

_Don't count your chickens before they hatch. You've only been in there for twelve hours, by my count._

Harry rolled her eyes.

"You're an enthusiastic journaller," Gin remarked. "Journalist? Whatever." Harry narrowed her eyes in suspicion. The other girl put her hands up in surrender. "Hey, I don't mean anything by it. I'm not here to judge or pry, or any of that shit. I was just going to say that it's good that you can amuse yourself pretty well. There's not really a lot to do around here. It gets pretty dull."

Harry forced herself to relax, a bit. Years of knowing Hermione put her on edge, when it came to questions like that.

"I, uh, like journalling. Journalizing?" she said. "It's relaxing. Speaking of boredom, are there any books around here? Like, non-fiction, I mean."

"I think so? They've got a little library that you can use, you just have to ask. Can't say I ever wanted learning books, though."

Harry nodded, and turned back to the diary.

_What else will we need, other than a book?_

_A ritual like this will need three things - one of the few useful things you learn in Arithmancy is that three is a powerful magical number. It is best to use things that are symbolic of what we're trying to achieve._

_So, the textbook is there to symbolize learning?_

_Yes. It is always better to use magical ingredients, but we will make do with what you have. I was planning to have you contribute some blood, while I contribute the ink absorbed into my diary, as another ingredient, to symbolize the sympathetic nature of the bond. You might also be able to guess that there is symbolism to your eyeglasses, as well. It's heavy-handed, but we must make do._

Right, vision. _My blood?_ Harry wrote.

_Yes. I would prefer to use other blood - from a butcher, or something of the sort. If you are worried, please do not be. I intended to contribute the majority of the liquid we will use to draw the ritual circle. It is a sacrifice, but one I would gladly make for you._

_Oh,_ Harry wrote, ears burning red. _Thanks. So, you said three, right?_

_Yes. I wonder if you could ask one of the staff for a magnifying glass. That should have the proper significance._

_Will plastic work? I doubt they'll give me anything with glass. Too easy to use as a weapon._

_I don't see why it shouldn't. In a pinch, we can use your glasses, but those might be difficult to replace. Still…_

Harry considered that. _Still?_

_Blood magic is by its very nature, sacrificial. Since we are attempting to transfer some of my talent to you, there is quite a bit of variety in how effective this ritual can be. It could transfer a small amount of talent, and still be called successful._

_However, Harriet, I do not mean to boast when I say that Cecilia had no small talent in Legilimency. I think even Dumbledore will admit that she was one of the most brilliant students that Hogwarts has ever seen. If we are very successful, you might become as talented at the Mind Arts as Cecilia was, or you might even inherit some other aspects of her brilliance._

_Thus, using a powerful ingredient like the glasses that you've worn every day for years might lend the ritual a significant amount of power. I already intend to use ink - a substance that, for me, is equivalent to my lifeblood, freely given. That is a powerful ingredient, particularly in a ritual that does not directly benefit me. Cecilia enchanted me with the ability to do this for a reason, after all._

_Don't take this the wrong way,_ Harry wrote. _But why would Cecilia - the original one - make you? I suppose if she was feeling generous, the diary makes sense. But the ability to transfer talents through blood magic? That seems above and beyond, particularly for a Slytherin._

_Again, you prove yourself to be uncommonly perceptive, Harriet. As you have correctly surmised, this diary is not simply a teaching tool. Cecilia was terribly lonely when she was in school. I think, more than anything, she wanted a rival. An equal. She saw wizardkind, and she did not consider them worthy. In creating this diary, she saw the means to create such a person where she could not find them._

Cecilia's writing grew bolder, more confident. _I saw much of her, in you. That is why I am offering this. You have potential to be great, Harriet Potter. I will see that potential fulfilled. And perhaps, when you have grown truly strong, you and I will seek out my original, and we will see what she has made of herself, and I will be be able to rest easily, with the knowledge that I have fulfilled my purpose._

Harry couldn't help the goosebumps that slithered up her arms. _Yes,_ she wrote. _Let's get out of here first, though._

_Let's. Find us a book, Harriet, and we'll do it tonight._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anything seems inaccurate to lived experiences, it's probably my mistake. I did, however, do a lot of research and did attempt to keep the portrayal as time-accurate as possible. Gin is a scouser, if anyone is wondering - she's from Liverpool, the accent is very distinctive. And, of course, Cecilia offers some insight into her thought process. Harry believes her - as far as she knows, Cecilia hasn't lied to her yet.
> 
> I'm curious to know what the rest of you think.


	6. Trust

The prospect of reading minds (despite Cecilia's insistence that the mind could not be _read_ , like some common book) held Harry's attention through the day. It might have been better to pay more attention to the nurses, since they were clearly the ones in charge of Harry - she hadn't seen Fitzsimmons since she arrived - or to Gin, who was kind and sweet and a good authority on this place.

But the lure of working some dangerous illegal magic right under their noses was too strong. Harry couldn't find it in herself to care that lunch was dry, flavorless corned beef sandwiches, or the designated time when an old woman came in and played the cello. Her playing was beautiful, but Harry hardly heard any of it.

After lunch, she'd gone aside, and asked Pareesa for an educational book. She produced an old, careworn book that called itself an introduction to psychology.

"Is this yours?" Harry had asked, feeling something tight and guilty in her chest.

"I was going to sell it anyway," Pareesa had admitted. "So it's not a big deal if I lend it out for a while."

"Are you sure?" Harry had asked.

"Of course," the nurse had answered.

So, in the back of the room, while the driest man Harry had the misfortune to encounter lectured all about subjects and objects in a sentence, Harry sat and wrote to Cecilia. Gin, next to her, was aggressively drawing an elephant on a sheet of paper. She was quite talented, Harry noted.

_One of the nurses gave me her old textbook._

_I see. Is this not good news?_ Cecilia asked. Harry had noticed that she wasn't the kind of person who thought a lot about other people's feelings.

_I just don't know if it's a good idea to ruin her book. She likes me, and the nurses have a lot of power over us._

_It's your decision, Harriet. However, consider the metaphysical weight of such an object. This is one of the older branches of magic. An object that represents the trust that someone has in you is exactly the kind of thing that this ritual favors._

_What do you mean?_

_Blood magic is about sacrifice. If you destroy this book in a ritual, you're not just sacrificing the thing itself, you're also giving up any hope of having a good relationship with an adult who has power over you. That's worth more, so to speak._

Harry bit her lip. _So, you'd go for it._

_I would. The magical benefits outweigh the costs for me. I don't presume to say whether they ought to for you, though. I figure that I'd planned on getting out by the end of the summer, and that the benefit of having more talent for legilimency is something that would extend later in life._

_Well, then, by that logic, wouldn't it be better to wait until the end of the summer, to get proper ingredients for this ritual?_

_That's good reasoning, but it would be less effective than you might think. As it stands, you have very few possessions and no access to your money. The things you're giving up - one of your few possessions, and the trust of one of the few allies you have in this place - these things might not be much when you're back at school, but while you are in here, they are very valuable._

_So, it's not just the value of things, it's the comparative value of things?_

_Yes. In six months, when you are back at school, if you were to do the same ritual, sacrificing instead some expensive and appropriate magical materials, they will not have the same weight. Money, after all, is not very important to you._

_I understand. Okay, I'll use it._

_Excellent. We will have a good opportunity tonight._

_I suppose that means I'd better do some magic, to make sure no one will come running._

_It can't hurt._

Harry shut the book, and glanced around the room. It was a boring lesson. Everyone looked bored. The teacher, then. She sent a silent apology to him. He was here, after all. He probably didn't deserve this, so she'd try to be gentle.

She leaned over to Gin. "Hey, that teacher looks kinda old, huh?"

Gin glanced up from her elephant, curious. "What do you mean?" He was pacing back and forth in front of the ancient, rolling chalkboard.

"Well," Harry said, summoning up that hot, sick, too-full feeling. "You know what happens to old people sometimes, right? Their hips go out."

At that moment, the teacher tripped over his own feet, and went crashing into the board, toppling it over with an enormous sound like a gunshot. The nurses stood up, and the patients stared around at each other, too happy with the interruption to care.

Gin, however, was staring at Harry. "Did… did you do that?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry said, the picture of innocence. "After all, I'm in here because I believe I have magic powers. I don't actually have them, not at all."

"Wicked," Gin breathed. "Normally, I'd say you were fucking with me, but I know what I saw."

"Nothing," Harry supplied. "You saw nothing."

"...Right."

The ministry never did show up. She was in the clear.

* * *

Later that night, Harry stood in her room. It was fortunate, as Cecilia had put it, that it was large enough to contain the circle that they had planned to make. She had so little furniture, too, that she didn't even have to move stuff around. The problem, however, was mostly that Harry would be much better off with some kind of paintbrush, for the ink. She had to make do with her felt-tip pen, but that was easier said than done.

 _Do I need to avoid doing other kinds of magic while drawing this circle?_ she asked Cecilia.

_What kind of magic do you need to do?_

_I don't want to spill any of your ink. From what you've told me, it's basically your blood. And something might go wrong if I do spill…_

_Relax. My ink has magical properties, so it won't dry. So what we'll do is I'll create a small well of ink, and you can dip your finger in it, and draw the circle, as well as the glyphs. Have you copied them_ exactly?

_Yes._

_Then there's nothing to worry about._

Chastised, Harry set the book down, and glanced again at her sketch. Around a perfect circle, a number of small symbols were etched. Three smaller circles were placed outside of the first, equidistant from each other, with a thin line of ink linking them back.

Harry drew, careful to make the circles as perfect as possible. It helped to follow the tile on the floor - the squares were helpful as a benchmark, and Cecilia drew out each rune in the diary, blown-up so she could reference them, as Harry drew them.

It was a lot of work - Harry's finger ached, and while the fact that the ink did not dry was very useful, it was also sort of gross. Harry had no intention of mentioning this to Cecilia.

After what felt like an hour, she sat back on her heels. The circles were complete, the glyphs were drawn, and her finger was covered in inky sludge. Per directions, she placed the book in one of the circles, her glasses in another, and the diary in the final circle, right in front of her.

The last thing she did was scratch at her arm, over and over till she drew blood. She squeezed the wound, pushing blood out in a few red drips.

The ink sizzled where the blood hit it, bubbling and spitting, like an enraged badger. Harry stepped back, and summoned the feeling again.

The hot, sick bubbling rose in the back of her throat. She could feel it - the magic was nearly palpable, humid, thick, roiling like it was about to spill over. It pounded in her ears, in her temples - in her head, like it was part of her.

In her mouth, she felt like she suddenly had a mouthful of blood - that coppery, savory tang.

It thrummed, and the lines on the floor began to hiss, low and jarring. The noise grated against Harry's teeth, louder, and louder. The thrumming in her brain got louder, and louder - not in decibels, until her brain felt like mush and there was no room left for thoughts, just the pulsing in her brain, the hissing in her ears, and the metallic tang on her tongue.

And then, it was over - the feelings stopped, all at once, and Harry was laying on the floor, head ringing. She didn't feel any different.

With what felt like a titanic effort, she heaved herself up, grabbed the diary, and then crawled into bed, fully dressed.

* * *

Harry was only woken by a shrill scream, the next morning. She forced open her eyes, and blinked at the blur in front of her. Nancy, then. Her horror was loud - not her scream, but her thoughts. It was like she was thinking too loudly. She thought that Harriet was deranged enough to think that she could summon demons.

This was far from ideal. Harry had done the ritual with the full expectation that she would be found out, but it was _literally the next morning._

Nancy finished screaming, finally. The noise tapered off. Harry pushed herself out of bed, squinting.

"What _is_ this?" Nancy asked. Harry thought that there were more people behind her, in the hallway now. That scream definitely would have tipped off the ward. And true enough, she could feel the flow of their thoughts, like little eddies, in the hall. Demon-summoning, it appeared, was the order of the day.

Harry just shrugged. "Sorry if I missed breakfast," she said. "Do you mind if I get changed?"

She was far too blind to be able to tell for sure, but she was pretty sure that Nancy's mouth was gaping open.

"Fucking hell," someone else whispered, from the hall.

Harry wasn't sure what to say, but she figured that ending this moment was best. She fumbled her way to the drawers, and then opened them up, grabbing a fresh set of clothes, complete with a thin hoodie. She staggered over to her bathroom, and shut the door.

She was going to take a nice long shower, let them get the gawking out of the way. Showering was, in its own way, comforting, since she couldn't usually bring her glasses into the shower, even if the constant cold of the ward and the lack of hot water compounded to make it a wholly unsatisfying experience.

When she finally stepped out into her room, hair wet but covered by her hood, teeth chattering, she found it empty. When Harry went to look, the book was gone, and what was left of her glasses had been placed on her dresser. She picked them up, and turned them over. They were still recognizably eyeglasses, but they looked as if they'd spent a warm half-hour in a furnace - twisted, broken, and still smeared with black ink.

Harry put them down, checked that she still had Cecilia's diary, put the dirty clothes in her hamper, and steeled herself. There was no putting it off - she was just glad that no one was waiting for her, when she came back.

Reaching into her pocket and curling her fingers around the diary for reassurance, she stepped out into the hall. The ward was a lot more frightening when it was a collage of vague, blurry shapes. Harry had her ears peeled - the quiet in most of the room probably meant that she'd missed breakfast and morning meeting.

"Hey, Harry," Gin called. She had a distractingly pleasant lack of giving a shit about demon summoning. Mostly, she thought Harry looked like an awkward duckling, and she recalled her experiences at first, in this place.

"Hey," Harry said. "What are we doing today?"

"We're drawing ourselves as trees. C'mon." Harry dutifully followed.

She had barely sat down at a table when another blur appeared, and asked her, "You're Harriet Potter?"

"Yes?"

The blur - it had to be a nurse - placed a plastic cup in front of her. Harry glared at it. Pills, again. The nurse's thoughts told her they were anti-psychotics. Gross. She downed it without dwelling on that, but the woman didn't leave.

Harry squinted at her.

"I'm your named nurse," she said. "Toni Carter." It was some sort of obligation, but the woman was so busy that apparently she only got to visit with her patients once a week, if that.

"What's a named nurse?" Harry asked.

"During your stay, I am the primary caregiver in charge of your treatment, and your care. If you have a concern, it should come to me. Now that we have established that, do you have any immediate concerns that I should be aware of?"

"No," Harry said. The nurse wasn't really interested in her concerns - it was more rote efficiency than concern.

"Yes," Gin piped up. She, however, had a surprising amount of both observation and concern. "She needs glasses. Dunno what happened to her old ones, but the girl can't see shit."

"Hey!" Harry protested.

"Is that so? What happened to your previous pair?" Ms. Carter asked.

"They got broken."

The woman sighed, and strode off. Harry just glanced at Gin. This, apparently was a mistake, because Gin met her eyes - Harry blinked, and then there was a sensation - it was like stepping into a pool of water, but not - because it was in her mind, and Gin's mind wasn't a pool of water.

Harry panicked, and looked away - but it vanished, as soon as she broke eye contact. But even from that - she got a whole lot of jumbled thoughts, from that contact. Even a few memories - some of them old, some recent. It felt like rather more data than her brain was ready for. Her head twinged, a little.

That was what Cecilia was talking about, then. Harry cleared her throat, trying to dispel the sensation.

"So. You mentioned trees."

"Yes. Trees."

Harry frowned. "So am I supposed to be drawing me as what kind of tree I'd be, me turning into a tree, me as wood with a bunch of tree parts?"

"Use your imagination," Gin said. "Any of the above." She was working away at her own drawing, which was a bunch of faces in a tree. Weird.

"Alright."

Harry bent down, face close to the table, to draw. Except, she was pretty awful at drawing, and she'd never really tried to draw trees before.

She gave it her all, but it looked awful. She was a horrible tree.

"You're terrible at this," Gin remarked.

"Yep," Harry agreed. She polished off the terrible sketch of a tree, and opened her diary.

_It succeeded._

_Excellent, Harriet. What have you noticed so far?_ Cecilia's writing was cramped, and hurried.

 _I can see everyone's thoughts. I thought this was going to be a thing where I had to turn it on. Instead, it's sort of harder_ not _to do it than to do it._

_Yes. It's almost good that you're here, for it. It's a closed environment, and there are enough people around that you'll get some experience with it. You'll find that the ability to read minds involves very little actual reading. We do not think in text, after all. At first, you will mostly get emotions, or impressions - snapshots, of what people are thinking. Passively, the effect is somewhat weaker, and constant. Once you become used to it, you can peruse memories, or instill compulsion. The connection is stronger with eye contact, and with a wand, but it's possible to make do with less._

Harry smiled. _That seems pretty useful. Do lots of people know it?_

_I am unsure about the present era, but when I was in school, most people did not know it. It is not something easily learned from books, so some of the old families passed it down among themselves, like the Blacks. Occasionally, there are people with natural talent for it, like us but becoming accomplished while being self-taught is rare.  
_

_So, that's why you wanted me to do this so badly. It's too hard to learn on its own. But that was easy, and now I have a whole new talent. I can read minds really easily - and more than one at once, though I can really only focus on one at a time. Why don't we do that for other kinds of magic?_

_While it might seem that way, it is generally better to learn things the hard way instead of cheating with blood magic. As a teacher, I would be remiss if I did not encourage you to learn and develop your own talents, rather than than turning you into a feeble copy of me. You would become more talented faster, yes, but in the long run, you would suffer for it._

_I see._

Cecilia continued, however. _Blood magic is useful, but it is not a cure-all, and it is ultimately no substitute for hard work. It often closes as many doors as it opens - there are likely as yet unknown limitations to the ritual we just did. Hopefully, they are not debilitating ones, because of what we gave up-front, but it is not a perfect science._

_I get it. So we did this one because it was worth it?_

_Yes. Legilimency and Occlumency are singularly useful talents, and I think we can expect Voldemort to be skilled in them, as well. It is one of those things - you can imagine how useful it is in any confrontation, and now, you will be able to compete with her._

_Oh._ Everything always came back to Voldemort, didn't it?

_You and I will defeat her, Harriet._

_Yeah, I know. I just wish she'd gone to someone else's house that Halloween._

_My condolences, little weed._

Instead of answering, Harry drew a face sticking its tongue out, and shut the diary. She was exhausted. She let her face slump onto the table, draping it onto her arms.

Within a few minutes, she was asleep.

* * *

True to her word, Harry's named nurse scheduled a visit from an optometrist that very afternoon. Harry was quite pleased that she'd even convinced Uncle Vernon to shell out to cover a new pair of glasses. She spent an hour with a man who looked almost as old as Dumbledore, with his own set of thick spectacles, before she picked out another pair of glasses that looked quite a bit like her father's.

She trailed her mind through the waters of his thoughts, but stopped, almost immediately. His overriding thought, for most of the session, was that Harry didn't _look_ crazy. Plus, it _was_ worth it to try and stop herself from reading people's memories as much as she liked.

Harry found herself much less fond of his bumbling grandfatherliness after that. She walked back into the ward, and threw herself into the seat next to Gin.

Gin nudged her, honest concern floating out of her, like beams of light from a candle. Harry poked her back. When Harry met her eyes, she dove into the pool of water, again. Gin had noticed that Harry didn't have breakfast, had slept through most of the day.

"I'm alright," Harry said. "I've just been so tired today."

"Mhmm," Gin hummed. "What do they have you on? Might be the drugs." While she suggested it, Harry watched her observe other girls in this ward go on medication, and realized they became drowsy for days afterwards. It was almost surreal. Harry could feel her head twinge, a little bit.

"No idea."

"Ah. They might not tell you, anyway. You could ask if you wanted to." That thought was accompanied by a stab of pity, and Harry realized that Gin was a voluntary patient - she'd agreed to come here, of her own free will, and could leave, if she wanted to.

Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that - she supposed that she had a rather uncommon perspective, because she genuinely didn't belong. People like Gin clearly did, and agreed that they did. A bit more digging, and she learned more about Gin than she cared to know, along with a throbbing in her head, from the intensity of their direct connection.

She felt a bit ill - Gin had problems, and they were hers to share. She hadn't shared them with Harry, and Harry had just snooped behind her eyes, and in a few seconds she knew that Gin had a history of throwing everything she ate up in the bathroom, afterwards. This had gotten out at her school, and then things had gotten worse, until - Harry's brain stuttered - she had suicidal thoughts, and told her teacher about them.

One thing led to another, and Gin had ended up here, because that was the best option she'd had.

Harry tore her eyes away. It felt horribly invasive. She hadn't really _meant_ to snoop, it just… happened. Part of this talent meant that all it took was an idle thought - and then someone's mind would seize on that, and she instantly knew more than she had ever wanted.

Her head hurt more, now, like someone had lodged a small, smooth stone behind one of her eyes.

She yawned. Part of her wanted to open up the diary, and ask Cecilia about how to stop reading people's minds, but she was just so tired. She put her face in her hands, ready to sleep again.

"If you're going to do that, you might as well go back to your room," Gin said.

"I can do that?" Harry asked.

"Well, yes. They usually frown on patients not participating, but all you've done today is sleep, so no one will notice."

"Cool. Thanks."

* * *

Later, after Harry had slept, she curled up in a nest of her sheets, and took out Cecilia's Diary. She huddled, trying to expose as little skin as possible to the frigid air.

_How do I turn it off?_

_What did you see, Harriet?_

_I learned a lot more about Gin than I ever wanted to, that's for sure._

_Yes, that is bound to happen. With this power, you will find it harder to not look into others' minds, than to do so. However, it is like any other talent - mastery will come in time._

_Ahh. So I have to keep doing it to learn how to stop doing it. That seems backwards._

_it might, but it's not dissimilar to learning how to ski. It is easy to move, but keeping your balance is necessary. It is difficult to regulate your speed, but with practice, balance is much less of an issue. As of now, you are a baby bird, fumbling and struggling to move. With time, you will become a graceful raptor, swooping and diving as you please._

Harry chortled. _First I am a weed, now I am a baby bird._

_You are many things, darling. One day, you will even be great. But, more seriously, do not fret about what you will inevitably learn, in the course of practicing your Legilimency. It is unavoidable, and it happens to every single person that develops a talent as strong as yours now is. I felt similarly, once. With practice, you will eventually cut down on all the superfluous information. For the time being, it is a necessary growing pain._

_Thanks, Cecilia. That does make me feel better. I think, for now, I'd settle for getting out of the mental hospital._ Harry wondered, for a second, about Cecilia's obsession with making Harry great. Harry had never considered herself destined for greatness, but it seemed to be Cecilia's way of helping - she seemed to double down on oppression and loneliness, instead of looking to others.

What had happened to her original? Why was it so important to her, that Harry succeeded? Perhaps it was purely that kind of empathy - she had been in a similar situation. Maybe the differences Harry had noticed came only from the fact that Harry had chosen Gryffindor, instead of Slytherin.

_Of course._

But even if she didn't agree with Cecilia on everything, she was still Harry's friend - the best.


	7. Tricks

A week later, Harry was summoned to an office. Harry followed Pareesa down a hallway, feeling awkward about the psychology textbook. She didn't want to bring it up, but she'd ruined it already.

"Umm, nurse?" Harry asked.

"I told you to call me Pareesa," she said. Her thoughts made it just how clearly she felt about that. She didn't want to be a nurse. She wanted to make that effort.

"Oh, okay, Pareesa. I, er, wanted to apologize. I'm sorry for ruining your book."

The nurse glanced at Harry. She was surprised to see that Pareesa genuinely didn't care. "I don't mind. I'm impressed that you managed to melt it, but I was planning to sell it anyway. I probably wouldn't have gotten more than five quid for it."

"Oh," Harry said. "Uh, okay then. I can give you the fiver, if you'd like."

"Don't worry about it, Harry," she said. It really was water under the bridge. "Dr. Fitzsimmons wanted to see you. Good luck!" And she gestured to the door. Harry stepped into it.

Fitzsimmons was there, folded into a low chair, his jacket off, and his arms rolled up. He adjusted his glasses when she entered.

"Hello, Harriet." Harry still hated the way he said her name, like she was some particularly interesting species of weevil.

"Hi," she said, slumping into the chair. She glanced up at him - he had watery blue eyes, and a placid pool of thoughts and memories behind them. He was noting how thin and skittish she looked, compared to over a week ago, when she'd first come here.

"I hear you're settling in well," he said. She supposed it was true. She was still struggling with the side effects of the medication, but there wasn't much she expected she could do about that.

So she didn't say anything, just let him look at her, and looked into his mind. Inwardly, he decided to change tacts, a bit - maybe she would respond to more direct prodding.

"How are you feeling so far?" he asked.

Harry shrugged. "It's alright," she said. "Better than I expected."

"That's good. I'm afraid the psychiatric hospital is rather more boring than it is portrayed in films."

"I haven't seen very many films," Harry admitted. He was surprised, although he didn't show it.

"Oh? Do you not prefer them?"

"The Dursleys never let me watch the telly. But sometimes, when they didn't want to deal with me, they dumped me with Mrs. Figg, the neighbor. She didn't mind so much. That was the only telly I got."

"I see." He really didn't. He still thought that Vernon was a decent human being. Sad, that. He was nothing if not observant, though. "What do you mean by, 'they didn't want to deal with you?'"

"Well, they couldn't let me come with them when they went out to eat, or to amusement parks, or to fancy places like that. Freaks don't deserve things like that, you see. But they couldn't very well leave me at home, especially while I was young. So, it made sense - dump the freak niece with the batty lady who lives down the street, with her dozen cats. That way, you can pretend that the freak doesn't exist, and she doesn't ruin Dudders' special day," Harry couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice.

"Freak?" Fitzsimmons asked, mildly. He didn't believe her, but he thought it was important to understand the nature of her psychosis. "I get the impression that name has some meaning, here."

"Yes," Harry admitted. "The funny thing is, before you showed up, I can't remember the last time Vernon called me Harry. Usually it's girl, or you. Dudley is the one that prefers freak. Though, it gets a lot of use as an adjective, too."

"I see. Does that have anything to do with the magic?" He was certain that she believed in it, then. And he wasn't wrong - the Dursleys did hate her because of her magic.

Harry glared at him. A headache was beginning to form, behind one of her eyes.

"Harriet, I believe that truth is generally preferable to lies. I know about the magic. When your uncle contacted me, he showed me this." He reached into one of his pockets, and pulled out a tape recorder. He pressed play.

"-And then, Dudders," her voice was unmistakable, echoing from the recorder, sounding both damning and tinny, "you know what I'll do?"

"You're not-"

" _Magic_ ," Harry's voice breathed, sounding almost reverent.

"You're not - you're not! Dad said you're not allowed to do it out of school!"

"Dudders, I'm not allowed to use my wand out of school. But I don't need my wand to hurt you. We went over this with Vernon. No more picking on Harry, fatso."

"NO!" Dudley wailed. He really was pathetic. "Don't!"

"Don't push me, then."

Fitzsimmons reached over and clicked the tape recorder off. He was watching Harry closely, examining her for any reaction she might have had. It was pretty damning - about as damning as it got, honestly. She glanced away, pulling back. She didn't really want to know what he was thinking.

"I'm not sure what you want me to say," Harry said.

"I just want to understand, Harriet. I hope it's not unreasonable. It might not seem like it, but I am on your side," he said, carefully.

Harry didn't have the heart to say something snappy. "It's not that I don't want to tell you. It's that I _can't_. I'm not allowed to. In fact, I'd probably get in trouble for what you know already."

"Trouble from who?"

Harry rolled her eyes, and looked at him. "I can't tell you that. Anything I say more would be too much - you can probably figure out from what you do know that I'm not the only person with magic out there." He had sussed that out, then. Harry didn't want to risk violating more of the Statute of Secrecy - the Dobby disaster from last summer was more than enough. She needed to get back to Hogwarts - it was her only guarantee of getting out of here.

"I see, Harriet." He did - or, at least, he was attempting to. "Either way, I don't see a way out of here without you telling me. If you are telling the truth, then I need to understand this magic to help you prove that it is, in fact, real, and not a hallucination. If it is not real - and I am not trying to claim that it isn't - then I need to know about that too, so we can help you move past it."

Harry considered it - she truly did. But she'd skirted the line enough here. If the Ministry did come, and she hadn't broken the law at all, perhaps no one would look too closely on the marks on her room's floor. And she was already treading on thin ice.

"I can't," she said. "I just can't. I have to go back to school. But if I tell you, and they find out, they might not let me back."

He was quiet, thinking through the implications of that. He was many things, but not stupid, so he could guess at the Statute - perhaps not all of it, but enough to get the general idea.

"I can't do anything for you," he repeated. "Unless you tell me something - can you tell me about the drawings on your floor?"

Harry shook her head. She had the beginnings of an idea - it wasn't ideal, but perhaps it might be enough to prove that she was willing to work with him, at least a bit.

He sighed.

"I can't tell you anything now," Harry admitted. "But, my school starts on September 1st. If I'm still here by then - if I haven't been released, or disappeared in the night, then I'll tell you everything. I promise. I know that, technically, you can't hold me until then. But I'd like to stay here, till then, if no one comes for me."

He wasn't happy, but he really couldn't make her say anything she didn't want to. And because he didn't want to dismiss her concerns about secrecy out of hand, he couldn't argue her logic.

"Alright. Maybe we can talk about the Dursleys, instead."

Harry nodded. "I can do that. What do you want to know?"

* * *

Life settled into something of a routine, after that. Harry got up, ate breakfast, listened to whatever was going on at morning meeting, sat through whatever activity was planned that day, laughed with Gin, wrote to Cecilia, and practiced looking behind people's eyes as much as she dared.

The medication no longer made Harry sleepy. This, however, was not actually that great of a thing, because there were a bunch of symptoms to replace the drowsiness. She was nauseous in the mornings, stiff if she sat for more than a few minutes, and when she got drowsy, or tired, or stressed, or sometimes, for no reason at all, her hands would shake, so badly that her writing was nearly indecipherable.

On Harry's birthday, the entire ward sang Happy Birthday, and one of the nurses brought in a cake. Harry wondered where her friends were, and what they'd gotten her. Hedwig, too - she hoped Hedwig was safe.

The other residents shot her suspicious looks, from time to time, and Harry was surprised to see that most of them thought that she was dangerous, based on her ritual a few days after coming here. It had been rather ill-advised, if she was honest - anyone coming to find her would likely see it. And, well, everyone thought she was a delusional lunatic who tried to summon demons.

Harry didn't want to care what they thought - she would be leaving here soon enough - but it still hurt that Gin was the only one willing to talk to her.

So, when she felt reasonably confident in her Legilimency skills, she curled up on a couch next to Gin in the common area, and asked, "How much do you trust me?"

"I dunno," Gin said. "I trust you, I guess."

"Right, so - I can read minds."

"Uh, wow. I can see why you wouldn't really want me to say anything, but…"

"That's not it," Harry interrupted. "Although, 'reading' minds is not entirely accurate. It's more like… I can connect to other people's thoughts, and follow what they're thinking. I'm told it's something to do with frequencies - my mind is… flexible, so I can alter my wavelength to harmonize with other people's. Honestly, it's harder to stop doing it than to do it. I can even, with eye contact, direct their thoughts, a bit, to see their memories."

"Sounds useful," Gin commented. Harry tried very hard not to look into her mind, to see what she was thinking.

"It is. I uh, well, one of the more advanced uses of this technique lets me, er, the best way I can describe it is that I can sort of edit memories. I can change the associations with them, and bring them forward, or hide them away, all in someone's mind."

"I'm not gonna lie. That sounds kinda horrifying."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "I've never done it before, though."

"That's, uh, good?"

"I bring this up, because I, er, I saw why you're in here," Harry said. She felt her stomach churn, on how Gin would take this. "I don't want to like, snoop - it's practically impossible not to, considering how close we are and given that I'm still learning how to do it. But, anyway, I think I might be able to help."

"Help?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I don't want to say that I know what I'm doing more than you, so that's why I asked. I can make you have bad associations with harmful behaviors, or re-route your coping mechanisms, so you're more inclined to talk about things, but I don't know if that would help?"

"What do you mean?" Gin looked positively alarmed.

"I am offering to, well, modify your mind, you, so that you can leave if you want. If you don't want me mucking around in your head, that's fine - I can even avoid looking in there at all, if you want. I just-" Harry trailed off, staring forcibly at her hands.

"You what?" Gin asked. Harry looked at her, and got the distinct impression of concern. Luckily, there was a lot less anger or fear than Harry had expected, too.

"I just want to help," Harry said. "I can't help but see in other people's heads. I've even looked in the doctor's heads. I don't think anyone could stand in my shoes and not want to do anything. I can see, sometimes too well, how sick the people in here really are."

"Oh," Gin said. She looked away, now, too. "I really don't know, Harry."

"That's fine," Harry urged. "I just thought I'd offer. I don't know what the best thing to do is. I don't want to muck around in people's brains without them asking. I mean, is it right? Even if I end up helping, I don't know."

Gin hugged her arm around her legs. Harry had to resist the urge to look in her mind again. "I don't know, either," she said. "But it's not that I don't trust you. I just think - I can do this, you know? I don't need any shortcuts - no offense - I can beat this on my own."

Harry smiled. "Alright. That's very inspiring, I think."

"You really think so?" Gin asked.

"Sure. It's not easy, being here."

"No," Gin agreed. "It's not."

* * *

In her bed, Harry wrote in her diary. She was getting worried, now. It was taking longer than she might have hoped, to get out. There were only three weeks left until the start of term at Hogwarts.

_Do you think it's ethical to try and manipulate people's minds without their consent, even if it's for their own good?  
_

Cecilia took a few seconds to answer. _That's a difficult question, Harriet. I am assuming this has something to do with your new knowledge of Legilimency?_

_Yes. The people here have legitimate mental problems, and I think some manipulation using the Mind Arts could be helpful to them._

_That's not bad thinking. However, you are handicapped by the existence of magic, and the fact that you are still a student. That's why you're thinking of doing it without their consent, no?_

_Yes,_ Harry wrote.

_I think that it would be unethical to do so - it would be morally wrong, from an absolute standpoint. But from a more practical one, it would not. If you believe that the end justifies the means, as I do, then you could justify it._

_Why would you do it if you think it's wrong?_

_I don't think it's wrong. I think that it is an unethical, immoral act - the kind of thing that, in a perfect world, you should never do. But, in a perfect world, there would be no need for mental hospitals, because people would be able to manage their illnesses on their own. We do not live in a perfect world. Thus, things like this are sometimes necessary._

_So, you're answering by not answering._

_Yes. I don't want to tell you how should use the magic I teach you. I think that any rational study of magic will inevitably lead to the Dark Arts, but, even those spells - I don't want to tell you how to use them. I believe that my ideas about the world, and how it should be are correct - everyone does, I think. Cecilia created this diary to affirm that belief - a rival would do that._

_What do you mean?_

_Cecilia believed that she could help create a worthy rival for herself, with this diary. If she is right, and her ideas about how to change the world are right, then you would inevitably become a willing ally in her quest to make the world a better place. If she is wrong, then you are in the perfect position to challenge her, and if your logic is sound, then perhaps you can show her where she is wrong._

_It's like the statistics, all over again._ Harry harrumphed, and continued, _Everything comes back to them with you._

_What do you mean, little weed?_

_Well, you mean that Cecilia wanted to change the world, right? She wanted to make it the best it could possibly be, according to the way she thought. But she probably couldn't find anyone to keep up with her - or maybe they were like Dumbledore, and wouldn't have treated her fairly. So she made a diary that would teach someone to think like her - or, at least, to think methodically and back up their points._

For once, it was Harry continuing to write, not Cecilia. _If I have a good point, you go along with it. In a way, it's like having the same kind of verification you mentioned before - someone who has seen the same things, and is clever enough to follow along. That's what Cecilia wants - someone to speak with as an equal. If I disagree with her, I'll have a good reason for it. It's like you said, before. I only wish I knew what she is doing now, so I can see where it led her._

Cecilia's writing was careful, and calm. _I do not know. I dearly wish I did, however. However, as precocious as you are, you aren't ready for that confrontation, yet._

_Not ready?_ Harry asked.

_It will inevitably end in a duel. I would not like that duel to be_ completely _embarrassing, thank you very much._

_Hey! You said I was good at dueling!_

_For a second-year, maybe, but I assure you, Cecilia is, by this point, as old as your Transfiguration professor, if not older. There is quite a gap in your experience._

_I see how it is._

_It will not remain that way forever, Harriet. Do you think you will attempt to help your fellow patients?_

_I don't want to leave anyone worse off. I don't know if I could forgive myself for that._

_Do you believe that you are capable of helping people, and not harming them?  
_

_Yes._

_Then, Harriet, it sounds like you are afraid of failing. I think you should do it. You are far more capable than you give yourself credit for._

_Alright._

Harry put her plan into action the next morning. She slid into the eyes of Janey, and found that she suffered from schizophrenia. That wasn't easy - she had almost no experience instilling a compulsion in someone's mind. She didn't even know if she _could_.

Harry could do very little for Janey, as it turned out. The only thing she could do was make positive associations for therapy, and, upon further thought, medication. If she was going to do this, she realized that it was foolish to discount how helpful the hospital could be for the people here. So, if she was able to do anything, she could at least supplement the work that the doctors were doing.

Over the next few days, she tried to influence anyone she could - often, she couldn't address the cause of people's illness. The illnesses themselves were frequently just too big, or too subtle for her still-novice skills. But she could help them with coping mechanisms - things like bulimia, or if they hurt themselves - she could de-emphasize those things, and emphasize healthy coping mechanisms, like talking, or the therapy sessions.

Harry was no expert at messing with people's minds, so, when she ran into an issue, she backed off. She had no idea if she had truly helped, but it quieted her mind. The fact was, most mental illnesses didn't have a cure - they required someone to work through their issues, like Gin had wanted. It was not just cure - it was a long-term treatment. Harry did what she could to help them get there, but she couldn't take that step for them - at least without considerably more skill.

* * *

In the middle of the night, Harry was startled awake. She popped up, and immediately saw the dark shape hovering over her, and panicked.

She screamed - or, at least, she tried to scream. Instead, the dark figure popped a hand over her mouth, so there was only a muffled moan that came out.

"Quiet!" a raspy voice hissed. "I'm here to get you out!" The mind, too, was full of genuine sentiment.

Harry relaxed. The figure moved their hand.

"Thanks," Harry said. "Who are you?"

The figure coughed, uncomfortably. Harry thought he sounded like a man.

"Hear me out," he urged. "I'm your godfather. Sirius Black."

"I thought you were in Azkaban," Harry said.

"Oh," he growled. "I didn't betray your parents." He was very apologetic about the whole thing, actually. He'd suggested that they changed secret-keepers, but it had been changed to Pettigrew.

"I uh, didn't know you were supposed to?" Harry asked. She was very confused. "I just heard that you killed someone named Peter Pettigrew."

"It's a long story."

"I gathered that. You said you were here to break me out?"

"Yes. I'm your godfather. I heard that you'd vanished in the _Daily Prophet_ , so I decided to break out and come find you. You don't wanna be here, right?"

"Right. They think I'm crazy, but I can't tell them I'm not, because that would break the Statute of Secrecy," Harry explained.

"Good," he said. "Well, not, but that means we can leave. Grab your stuff."

Harry levered herself up out of bed. Black backed up, but it was hard to see much in the darkness. Harry got up, and quickly emptied her drawers, making sure she had the diary. When she'd stuffed her meagre clothes into her bag, she straightened up.

"Alright," she said. He led the way out of the room. Harry didn't see anyone around, but she knew that there was usually a nurse around. She didn't notice that now, and instead, she followed Black out of the ward, and down a flight of stairs. Harry felt a pang of guilt, about not saying goodbye to Gin, but she supposed there was nothing for it. Harry knew her real name - she could send her a letter.

They walked past a slumped nurse at the entrance, and out the doors, into the cool August air. Harry grinned, and laughed - she was still honestly unsure about Black, but he'd come to get her, so he couldn't be all bad. She shot him a glance, meeting grey eyes for a second - and she read no malice, just giddiness. His mind was full of guilt, and very fractured, but from what she could tell, he was feeling reckless, and high-strung - he had just busted out of prison - but certainly not dangerous to her.

He was also, she realized with a shock, even more dark-skinned than she was, even if his skin was ashen-looking, and his hair wild. He looked, she thought, wild and dangerous and like he hadn't had a bath in years. Which, she realized, he hadn't. But that wasn't the bit that stuck on her.

When Hagrid had given her those pictures of her parents, she'd watched with interest. She'd already known, growing up, that it was her father that wasn't completely British, based on the Dursleys' frequent comments, but it was nice to see it for herself. And she'd noticed, too, that his best man looked just like him, brown and handsome and grinning, ear-to-ear.

"I, er," Harry said. "You were at my parents' wedding."

"I was?" he asked, roughly. He looked, confused, for a second, before he nodded. "I must have been. I was the best man, after all."

"I-" she started, but then she realized. She stepped back, wary. "Why don't you remember?"

He coughed, roughly, pain and regret emanating in waves. "I don't…" He glanced away. "I don't remember, a lot of stuff. The dementors."

"Dementors?"

"They guard Azkaban. Monstrous, soul-sucking demons. They make you feel horrible things. Your worst memories," Black explained. "But they take the good ones. I don't remember a lot of things, Harry." He glanced away. "I only held onto what I did… because it wasn't a happy thought. I was failing you. I was innocent. I was stuck. Until I learned you were gone."

"Oh," Harry said, feeling overwhelmed by his mind, and his memories.

"I'm sorry to drop that on you," he rasped. "We need to go - somewhere. I'm not sure. But away from here."

"My stuff is still at Privet Drive," she supplied. Still reeling. He didn't remember…? She could feel it - he barely recognized her. He was… he cared, as much as he could. Everything he was, was dedicated to that. She wasn't sure how to feel.

"Stuff?" Black asked.

"My trunk, my wand, all that. I had to hide it when they came for me for the mental hospital."

"Why were you in there?"

"Vernon and Petunia got a doctor to come and diagnose me with psychosis, based on the whole magic thing," Harry said. "But I couldn't prove anything, because of the Statute. And Vernon switched some stuff around on me, so I looked paranoid, like a liar."

"Petunia as in Lily's sister?" Black asked.

"You know her?"

"Yeah. Harry… if I had known, I would never have left you," he said. His thoughts were full of - well, of dark things, but it was more encouraging than anything. It was almost entirely protective. He remembered Petunia. He remembered hating her, if nothing else. An awkward and uncomfortable evening with Harry's mother and Petunia and Vernon, and Harry's grandparents being well… well, not _bad_ , but not necessarily great about the whole skin thing.

"Left me?" Harry asked. They were walking now, through the streets, in the pale light of the streetlamps.

"There's so much, Harry. So much to tell. James and I - we were cousins, like brothers. And Lily - I loved that girl. I would have done anything for them - either of them. My two favorite people in the world. The night they died, I was there first - the first one in the house. I pulled you from the ashes.

"Pettigrew betrayed us. I went after him, but he was already dead - I think Voldemort killed him. She framed me, so I've spent twelve years in Azkaban. 'Till I read about you - the Prophet had a go at Dumbledore, for using you. A reporter named Rita Skeeter somehow got wind that he couldn't find you."

Harry looked at Black. "That's - a lot to take in."

"I fucked up," Black admitted. "I never shoulda given you to Hagrid. He gave you to Petunia. She was a horrid bitch." He was swimming - no, drowning - in guilt.

"She did not treat me well," Harry agreed. "But I'm never going back. They had me committed to a mental institution. Even if I have to run away at the beginning of break every summer, _I'm not going back_."

"Well," Black said. "You could always stay with me. I understand if you might not want to, but hey, I'm on the run from the law already. I'm not really about to become more of a wanted man. If you need someone to bust you out again, I'm your wizard."

"Okay," Harry said. "Can you Apparate?"

"Yeah. I don't know where they live, though."

"I'm a natural Legilimens," Harry told him. She glanced at his face, his mind, trying to gauge his reaction. He gaped. His thoughts were shocked surprise, too.

"Really?" he asked. "I've only ever met one before."

"Yeah." Harry grinned. "I glanced into your mind a bit earlier. I wouldn't go out into the dark night with a strange man without a little certainty. Sorry." She was not used to people that were aware that reading minds was a thing. It was a new experience.

"Right, that's fine. I don't even know if I could stop you. Azkaban is a helluva thing," he admitted. He was suddenly inordinately cheerful, bouncing along. Mood swings, then.

"Right, so, I can put the image in your head. I think."

"Let's go, then," he said. He leaned down and met her eyes. She dove in, and concentrated hard on Privet Drive, pushing a memory of the street in front of the Dursleys' house, illuminated during the day.

"Got it?" she asked.

"Yeah, I think so. Gimme a sec." He squinted. He popped away. Harry was left standing on the side of the street, in the darkness. She walked into the shadows, lurking until Black returned.

He popped back onto the street, and Harry stepped up to him.

"Ready?" She nodded. He held out a hand and laid it on her shoulder, and then the world turned into a whirl of sound and color.

She dropped to the pavement, feeling the cool, rough surface between her palms. Black leaned down, and hoisted her up.

"Alright?" he asked.

She just nodded, and glanced at him. "Do you have a wand?"

He grunted, and held a stick. "It's not a good match, but it'll work." He felt a little bit eager, honestly. He had a good enough wand to turn Vernon inside out, at least. Hopefully it wouldn't come to that.

She looked away. "I need to get my stuff. I think I can get in without them noticing, but Vernon will get violent if he wakes up. Back me up?"

"You got it."

He followed her, even as she unlocked the door with a tap of her shaking hands. It was dark in the atrium, and Harry padded up the stairs to her old room - Sirius followed her, silent, looming.

Harry cracked open the door, careful to only swing it open a little bit. Her room was practically unrecognizable - it was back to being Dudley's second bedroom, again. She crept through the dark, cluttered room, until she reached the bed - the cot was still there, luckily. This whole trip back into the Dursleys' house was going better than expected, honestly.

She leaned down, reaching under the cot, until her fingers met cool leather. She grabbed it, and tugged it out. running her hands along the surface. It was her trunk. Harry straightened up, and turned to Black.

"Here it is," she whispered. "Where to?"

"Dunno. I hadn't thought this far ahead." He'd mostly been thinking about getting her out, as far as she could tell. Sweet, but again, impulsive.

"Well." Harry decided. "We could go to the Leaky?"

"Nah," Black denied. "I'm on the run, remember?"

"Oh. Don't you have like, a house? Where did you live before you went to prison?"

"I lived with your mum and dad, but their house was destroyed," Black explained. "I have a bunch of old family houses, but I don't know if I'd be comfortable letting you in any of them before I check 'em out, make sure it's safe, you know? My family was pretty into Dark magic, so lots of the stuff is going to be cursed."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. Somewhere in the house, she heard a thump, and Vernon's pained grunt. She could even feel his mind - he had very loud thoughts. "We have to go, now!"

Sirius must have heard it too - he cocked his head, before immediately grabbing her and Apparating them again. They appeared on a dark street corner, in what looked like the center of London.

"The Leaky will do," he said. "Now, I'm an unregistered Animagus. So you're going to check in with your dog Snuffles, alright?"

Harry nodded, dumbly, and then he was a dog - a great big, black, shaggy thing, up to her waist.

The dog barked, and trotted along, and Harry followed. He led her around a corner, and down a side street, stopping only in front of a dimly lit pub that she recognized as the Leaky Cauldron.

Harry was surprised to find the door open, and she stepped through, holding it open for Black. Inside, the lights were low, and there were still two or three patrons around, frowning into their drinks.

Tom, the proprietor, bustled up, his bald head shiny in the dim light. "Miss Potter!"

"Hello, Tom," Harry said. "I was hoping to rent a room."

"Of course, of course - everyone's been looking for you!" He was full of shock, that she'd just shown up.

"It's a long story. I was also hoping to bring the dog - his name's Snuffles, but he's very well-behaved."

He hesitated. Black clearly knew what he was doing, as a dog - he immediately sat, and stared up at Tom, eyes large and pleading. Tom looked between them, frowning, torn inside.

"Alright, I s'pose. I don't normally do this, Miss Potter, but I know you've been missing for a while. And since you've not got any adults lookin' after ya, it might be good for you to 'ave a big dog around," he said. Harry nodded gratefully. "But you're cleanin' up after him if he makes a mess, alright?"

"Yes," Harry said. "I promise, he'll be good."

Tom nodded, and handed over a key. "Why doncha get to sleep, Miss Potter. Room eleven's free. Last room on the right, first floor."

Harry thanked him, her hands trembling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, Harry is a bean, Cecilia is morally challenged, and Sirius is a good boy.


	8. Treats

Hedwig showed up the next morning - Harry was awoken by a very large, white, angry bird on her chest.

"Sorry, girl," she muttered, sitting up.

Hedwig hooted reproachfully.

"I know! I should have seen it coming. I'm sorry, Hedwig. Ron took care of you?"

Hoot, hoot.

"I won't leave you again, I promise."

Black barked. Hedwig's head swiveled, and she glared at him. He put his head in his paws, an obvious gesture of submission.

Harry laughed, and got out of bed. Hedwig, having asserted her dominance as the alpha in the room, swept over to perch on the edge of the chair, set in front of the desk.

Black returned to human form, pointing his wand at the door. "You've got a clever owl," he remarked. Harry noticed, then, that her bed was filled with letters, and parcels.

"Did you carry all these yourself?" Harry asked.

Hedwig just hooted, smugly.

Black laughed, his thoughts bright and clear.

Harry leaned over, and began to sort. Both Ron and Hermione had sent a bunch of letters, asking if she was alright, or talking about their summers - Hermione was in France, and Ron's family had gone to Egypt. They got increasingly more worried as the summer went on, and the article that appeared in the _Daily Prophet_ had only added to that panic.

Harry found a few other notes, mostly from concerned adults - Hagrid, the Weasleys, even one from Dumbledore, and her Hogwarts letter. When she turned to the parcels, she realized that they were birthday presents.

Ron had sent her a Pocket Sneakoscope, Hermione had sent her Broomstick Polishing Kit, and Hagrid had sent her _The Monster Book of Monsters_. Her booklist told her it was the required text for Care of Magical Creatures. How oddly prescient of him.

Harry watched as the thing flopped off the bed, and scuttled towards Black. He growled, and it fled underneath the bed, to hide like some childhood monster.

"Presents?" Black asked.

"My birthday was a week ago," Harry explained. "That's what these presents were for."

Something twisted his face. "I'll have to get you something, too." His guilt tilted into something dark, something like self-hatred.

"What?" Harry asked. "My birthday?"

"Well, I owe you twelve years' worth of birthday and Christmas presents. Have to make up, somehow." The thought was completely serious. He was thinking of it, in those terms.

"You don't need to-"

"I do," he insisted. There was something quiet and desperate in his eyes, and in his thoughts. "I broke out of Azkaban for you, Harriet. I know I haven't been a decent godfather so far - I can't even adopt you, like I should be able to. But I will. I'll find out the Death Eater who framed me, and I'll make things right."

"Framed?" Harry asked.

"I didn't kill Pettigrew. I wanted to, but he was dead when I showed up. The Aurors didn't bother to ask questions - they locked me up anyway. Skipped the trial and everything."

"So, you don't know who framed you?"

He grunted, and ran a hand through lank hair. "No idea. Wish I did, though. But that's fine - no more bloody revenge for me. I made that mistake once already."

Harry raised her eyebrows. He was dead serious.

"Gonna follow me around for the rest of my life, then?" she asked.

He shrugged. "At least until you take out the Dark Bitch." Again, completely serious. At least for the summers - he couldn't feasibly do it at Hogwarts.

Harry laughed. "You really don't have to get me anything," she repeated.

"I insist." He coughed, and glanced at her, eyes shifting around sketchily. "I do want to talk about something, though."

Harry looked up at him, worried. "What?"

"I get it, don't worry," Sirius said. "I was young once, too. And my family was always big on the Dark Arts. I knew a lot more about that kind of thing when I was a kid than I'd have admitted to pretty much anyone, even your father." He looked away.

Fascinating. Harry wasn't nearly as repulsed by the idea of such a thing as he thought she might be. She frowned. She wasn't sure where he was going with this.

"But I'm not your dad, I get it. I recognized that circle in the floor when I got you out of your cell. I don't wanna say anything, because it wasn't a huge deal compared to making sure you're alright, but I don't want you doing that sort of thing."

Harry opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. "I'm not going to forbid you, mostly because I don't think you'd listen to me, if I tried to put my foot down."

She looked down on the ground. "Sorry," she muttered, genuinely remorseful. Her hands trembled, and she shoved them into her pockets to make them stop.

"Don't worry about it," Sirius said. "I just want you to know that I'm here. I've been where you are. You gotta keep hold of yourself. Rule it. Don't let it rule you. I suppose I can't really hope to be a good role model, so I'll have to settle for being an example of what not to do."

"That's the only thing I've done," Harry told him, honestly.

"Good." Sirius actually looked serious, for once. "I wasn't being a good role model, when I went after Peter. Don't do that."

"Okay," Harry said. "I promise."

They stood there, looking at each other, for a long time.

Her stomach growled. "Guess I should go find some food," she said. Sirius was a dog again, and padded up to her, obediently. "You're very cute," she told him. "But I'm going to get changed, so I'm going to kick you out." He whined, and went to the door. She shut him out of it, and within two minutes, was out of the door again, absentmindedly patting her hair.

"Come on, Snuffles," she urged. He barked, happily.

* * *

It was strange, to go from having no freedom to having all of it. Black, for all he was her godfather, was not much one for responsibility. He seemed content, to let Harry do what she wanted, as long as he followed her around. Harry found him easy company - he loped longside her as a dog during the day, and cracked her up at night, leaning against the dog bed that Tom had procured for the room, on the floor.

They breakfasted in the Leaky Cauldron, where Harry would munch on bacon and eggs, and Snuffles would lounge under the table, begging her for scraps. He got them, more often than not. Sometimes, if he saw witches he thought were pretty, he would sneak off and beg them for attention, looking like nothing more than a lovable stray. Harry thought he was wasting his time - half those witches would run screaming if they knew who he really was.

Harry's favorite place in Diagon Alley was Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, because he was always happy to see her. Snuffles, too - he always set a small plate on the ground for him. It was vanilla ice cream, because dogs couldn't have chocolate. Harry wondered if this extended to animagi, too, but it wasn't worth explaining why her dog was an animagus, to try and find out.

Still, she eventually grew bored of wandering up and down the street, exploring the wide variety of shops, and watching the various inhabitants who came to shop in the long, lazy summer. It wasn't particularly a warm summer, however, so Harry found herself in trousers and sweatshirts more often than expected.

There were, however, some things she actually needed to buy. Since she was at the mental hospital this summer, instead of the Dursleys, she actually got more food than usual, so she'd grown an inch or two this summer, so she had to get some new robes. She considered getting more clothes, because she'd lost some of her clothes getting sent to the asylum, and even more leaving it, but wizarding fashion had never appealed to her.

Therefore, Harry spent one day in Muggle London, having gone to Gringotts to exchange her money for Muggle money. Here, Snuffles got a lot more funny looks than he had in Diagon, but Harry was able to get some clothes to replace the ones she'd lost - and, it was nice to not have Petunia lurking over her shoulder, critiquing her choices. She could get as much black, and as many boyish clothes as she wanted.

Harry stopped at Flourish and Blotts, too, for more quills, ink, and parchment, and to buy her new textbooks - ones for the new year, and for her electives.

It was at Margaret's Musical Mysteries, however, that Harry encountered her first spot of trouble. It was run by a pretty woman named Margaret, who was Muggleborn. She had an entire shop dedicated to music - enchanted record players, and a whole wall full of records of Muggle music. Wizard music, too - though, there was surprisingly little of that. There was even one old, battered Walkman that held up to three tapes in a magical compartment, but spate them out when they were done playing.

But, the real kicker of Musical Mysteries was that Margaret had a dog, a big chocolate lab named Clementine.

Clementine liked Snuffles, quite a bit. Harry grinned as she watched the two dogs twine around her, sniffing butts and wagging tails.

"Hey there," she said, holding out a hand for Clementine to sniff. She gave it a quick lick, and then went back to circling with Snuffles. "You're a pretty one, aren't you?"

"I see that my dog likes your dog," Margaret commented, genuinely amused.

"Yeah, er, Snuffles?" she called. He ignored her. "We can leave, if you like," she offered.

"It's fine," Margaret said. "Clem really seems to like him."

"I, er, she shouldn't - he's not, er, ready for a relationship," Harry volunteered.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. He's a bit… immature. I wouldn't want him to break Clem's heart."

Margaret burst into laughter. "They're just dogs, kiddo."

"Yeah, but Snuffles is a real scoundrel," Harry told her, completely serious.

"It'll be fine," the woman told her.

Harry really doubted it, but she couldn't really stop it - none of them would listen, if she did. What the hell. Sirius was an adult. He could make his own decisions.

"Well, I'll see you back at the ice cream parlor," she said to Snuffles.

A few minutes later, she was seated at a table at Florean Fortescue's, writing to Cecilia.

_Black is flirting with a dog that belongs to one of the shopkeepers here._

Cecilia's writing was erratic. _Please, that's rich. Is he seriously interested in other dogs?_

_I don't know? Is that how Animagi work?_

_I'm not 100% sure, mind,_ Cecilia wrote, _because I'm not one myself. I do believe that it does happen, however. Someone, somewhere has undoubtedly slept with an animal. I imagine that some animagi are unlikely to admit to it, if it is true. Animagi are known to take on some of the traits of the animals that they can become, but it seems to vary, depending on the person, and the animal._

Harry considered that. _I guess it has to be more than just him, though. But maybe doggy children are in his future._

_Yes, he seems like the type._

_Why didn't you become an Animagus?_

_My animagus form would have been a snake. A python, to be specific. It was too large to hide effectively, too slow to sneak around, and too small to be of any use in combat. Cecilia decided it wasn't worth the time investment. Snakes are, in many ways, very limited creatures._

_Oh,_ Harry wrote. _Maybe I should do it._

_The usefulness tends to vary considerably, based on which animal you get. Black, as a dog, can accompany you without suspicion. If he was a different animal, such as a wolf, or a lion, he would attract considerable attention._

_That's a good point. I think it would be nice. He told me that my father was one too. A stag._

_There is sentimental meaning to you, then. I am sure you can achieve it by your fifth year, if we work at it._

_I would like that._

Harry leaned back, and smiled, stretching out in the sun.

* * *

A few days later, Black disappeared for a while, grumbling about finding Harry something good enough to give as a birthday present. Harry didn't protest him leaving - she spent the day curled up in her room in the Leaky Cauldron, scribbling away in the diary.

Cecilia seemed pleased, to have someone to chat with.

When Black returned, padding into the room with a small satchel wound around his neck, she closed the book and sat up. He closed the door, and turned back into a man. He handed her the satchel, grinning like a loon.

"Happy birthday," he said. His mind was bright with pleasure. He had that kind of mind, she was realizing. He was… very emotional. It permeated almost everything he did, and fluctuated wildly. A very in-the-moment sort of thing.

Harry dumped the bag onto the bed, in front of her, hands shaking. A couple of things tumbled out - a pair of girl's school shoes, a gaudy silver ring, and a bright red rose that seemed just-picked.

"What are these?" Harry asked, fingering the crest. It was three ravens, on a shield.

"Family heirlooms," Black said. "The useful ones, at least. The shoes are spelled to not make a noise - if they don't fit you, we can get them resized. Dear cousin Bella always had big feet, ha. The rose - you can put that in your hair, and it'll fix it." As he spoke, memories pushed out - he recalled laughing at a dark-haired girl for her feet, and then her cursing him, shrieking and chasing him down the hall.

"Fix it?" Harry interrupted, forcing that aside.

Black shrugged. "I dunno. It styles it, I guess? Magically?"

Harry eyed him. "Very descriptive."

"I think it's a girl thing."

"Huh," Harry mused. "I'll have to give it a whirl."

"And the ring," Black added. "It's got a trigger, so to speak. You wear it on your wand hand. If you swipe over the gem with your thumb, it activates, and your wand won't leave your hand."

"Really?" Harry breathed. "That seems… useful."

"Yeah. It seems more useful than it is, though. The thing is, you literally can't be disarmed. That doesn't mean that you can just ignore Disarming Charms, or other stuff. A solid Expelliarmus will break your wrist, if it hits you. Your wand will still be in your hand, but that's worse, in some ways, than a lost wand.

"It is useful, though, because your wand will never fly out of your hand accidentally, and you can't drop it, so…" he trailed off, looking awkward. She could see him breaking his wrist, actually, and dropping it in a drawer. "Well, just, see if you like it."

"I will," Harry promised. She couldn't help the smile that tilted her lips. He was scattershot and awkward, but the gesture was undeniably sweet. "You didn't have to get me all this, Black, but I appreciate it."

He shuddered. "Call me Sirius, please." He felt awful, that she called him that. Guilty, again. Like he had failed her.

"Alright, Sirius," Harry said. "But really, you didn't have to."

"I did. It was either this or a Firebolt, but you convinced me you already have a decent enough broom. I'm still not sure this is enough."

"It is, trust me," she told him. She plucked the rose off the bed, and threaded it carefully into her hair. He grinned, a wolfish thing, and laughed.

She beamed back at him. She'd never had an adult that cared about her before, like he did. He wasn't really adult-like, more like a wild older brother. A bit like Fred and George might be, if they lived together. But he'd broken out of prison for her - that fact had taken a little while to sink in, but it had.

"I, uh," she said, slowly, feeling a little nervous about bringing it up. "You said that you and my dad were, uh, cousins."

He frowned, rubbing his hand through his hair. "Yeah. First cousins, once removed, even though we were the same age." he said. "My great-aunt was his mother. She and my mother weren't all that close, you see. My mother was a right bitch. She considered marrying a Potter to be beneath Great-Aunt Dorea." He grinned, nastily. "Too bad it wasn't up to her."

"So, uh," she said. "My grandmother was a Black?"

"Yes," he agreed. "James' parents took me in, after I left home, in fifth year. They were always good to me. Like I said, he and I were like brothers. I had a bedroom at their house, next to his."

"Most people - even in Magical Britain - don't look like us," Harry said. "So that's a Black thing?"

"Yeah," Sirius said. "It's a Black thing. One of my ancestors, Henry Black, invested in the East India Company. You know what that is?"

"Uh," Harry said.

"Muggle thing. Britain basically conquered India, linked to all that colonialism business. But we have a pretty big set of holdings in India, and an allied House in Bengal, the Kalo. My family got up to some nasty stuff, and the alliance ended up with us basically enslaving them. Blacks marrying Kalos, and all that. After the Statute of Secrecy, it was hard to keep marrying pure, so some families tried different things to prevent some of the nastier effects of inbreeding. So, a new source of blood - and the Kalo were as pure as any, just… Bengali.

"But one of their Heads, Rajat, saw his House getting exploited, and did some sort of nasty ritual as revenge." He grinned. "This was long before I was born, of course. Rajat cursed us, so now we have some trouble with insanity - commonly dubbed the Black Madness, and we always seem to die, before our time. Of course, Henry's son, Sirius, did some nasty magic himself, so we've got some impressive advantages - a predisposition towards Metamorphs, Parseltongue, and a real nasty affinity for the Dark Arts, as well as a bunch of magic power - so it sort of balances out.

"But the other thing Rajat did was, well, he didn't want anyone to forget that we fucked over India. So all trueborn Blacks look like," he gestured between them. "It's kind of funny, since it's become a point of pride, even if he meant it as an insult - some religious thing, I'm not sure. But my bitch of a mother used to go on all the time about Blacks breeding black, and all this tripe. Toujours Pur, and all."

"I… the muggles," Harry said, feeling a little off-put. "They had some nasty names. But I always wondered why no one who's magic seems to care."

"Yeah, well, Blacks have made it a thing," he said, laughing. "It's kind of funny - the old pureblood Houses are all interbred. I have cousins in all kinds of families, and they marry into us. But the color comes with the name, now. If a Black marries out, the color almost always vanishes in a generation or two. And no matter who many proper pale Brits we marry, we're still smooth like cocoa." He waggled his eyebrows. "Girls love a bit of Black in them."

"Oh," Harry said. "So it's just… I have the blood, I guess?"

"Yeah," he said. "The eyes are all Lily - I'm sure you've heard that a million times. But James was as dark as me, and you've got his skin." He flashed another grin. It might have looked nice, if Azkaban hadn't ruined his teeth. "Part of the reason we became friends on the train, first year."

Harry glanced down, examining her hands. "That's, uh. I'm really glad." She was smiling. "You're basically my uncle, and my godfather. It's nice. I mean, growing up - most people. The only people that looked like me were the people that worked at the takeaway. And, well," she shrugged. "Uncle Vernon had _opinions_ about that sort of thing. He had _opinions_ about my father, too."

"Twats," Sirius sniffed. His thoughts were torn - he hated what his family had done, but he wasn't ashamed of it, either. "Ignore them."

"I'm not going back," she said, harshly. "And no one in the magical world really cares."

He nodded, slowly. "You're not going back."

And she found herself trusting him to make sure that promise came true.

* * *

One morning, right before she had to return to Hogwarts, Harry was just finishing up her breakfast in the Leaky Cauldron, Sirius a faithful shadow at her feet, when Hermione and the Weasleys appeared, one by one, through the fire.

"Harry!" Mr. Weasley said, bounding forward. He'd been hoping to catch her. The whole family had, in fact. They'd come to the Leaky to do so on purpose. Interesting, and a little bit heartwarming.

Sirius let out a low whine, beneath her.

"Don't worry, they're good people," Harry whispered to him. Straightening up, she called, "Mr. Weasley! How was Egypt?"

"It was great, really great. Bill is doing very well at Gringotts. We had a lovely time. How was your summer?"

Harry shrugged. "Don't wanna talk about it," she said. Her hands trembled.

Thankfully, he didn't push. Mrs. Weasley, finished checking that she had all of her children, bustled over and swept Harry up into a hug. If she was being honest, the overwhelming affection that Mrs. Weasley felt was just that: overwhelming.

"Harry!" Hermione echoed Mr. Weasley. She had no small amount of relief, in her mind. Silly, like she thought Harry wouldn't be able to handle herself.

"Hello," Harry said.

"Good to see you!" Ron agreed. "We weren't sure, when Hedwig showed up." Ron, luckily, had faith. Though, all of them had no small relief that Harry was back and safe. Harry preferred Ron's mind, probably.

She was getting better at this sort of thing - sitting in a room and feeling out individuals among the masses. It was interesting, it was easier to just - surf, or something like it - along a crowd, rather than read just one person. It was… distracting, was the best word for it. Again, easier to read than to ignore, so that made sense.

"Yeah," Harry said. She didn't feel much like an explanation, in front of everyone. "I'm fine now, though."

He didn't really want to accept that. "You had us really worried, you know."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed. "She doesn't want to talk about it."

He frowned, about to say something before Harry cut him off. "Not now," she urged. She would explain, but she didn't want to admit this much weakness in front of the Weasleys.

Fred and George were mocking Percy - Harry saw that he was wearing his Head Boy badge, but it now read, 'Huge Buffoon." Given that term didn't even start till tomorrow, she figured that he deserved to be mocked, just a little bit. Their thoughts were, well, obvious. She didn't need Legilimency to know them - amusement, from the twins, and an embarrassed frustration, from Percy.

Ron and Hermione gave her significant looks, but relented. "Let's go get our school stuff," Ron said. "Mum looks like she's about to start yelling." True enough, Mrs. Weasley looked as if she had finally noticed Fred and George.

"Sure," Harry said. She put the money on the table for her breakfast, and stood up. Snuffles got up, too, from under the table and brushed up against her. Harry leaned down to ruffle his neck.

"Blimey," Ron muttered. "That's not a…"

"This is Snuffles," Harry said. "He's a good boy."

"Since when did you have a dog, Harry?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "Long story. But he's well-trained." Snuffles huffed, and she amended, "Most of the time."

"Uh-huh," Hermione said. It was clear that she didn't believe Harry, and there would be more questioning later. Harry didn't even need her legilimency to see that.

Ron, meanwhile, was still gaping. "Harry, how did you make friends with a Grim?"

"A what?"

"A death omen," Ron told her, picturing a horrible demonic-looking _thing_. "A big bloody black dog. My uncle Bilius saw one once, and then he died, right away. You're supposed to die, right after you've seen them."

"Snuffles can't be a Grim," Harry said. "He's been following me around for weeks. Fed him once, and now he won't leave me alone."

"Right," Ron said, but he still looked pale.

"Anyway," Hermione cut in. "Let's go to Flourish and Blotts. I want to buy the new textbooks!"

"Sure."

Harry managed to stave off most of the questioning while they were out shopping. The shopkeeper nearly shat himself when Ron and Hermione both asked for _The Monster Book of Monsters_ , and Hermione bought books for all the new subjects.

"All of them?" Ron asked. "Are you mental? What do you need to learn Muggle Studies for? You're Muggle-born!"

"Are you planning to eat or sleep at all this year, Hermione?" Harry added. Hermione ignored that, and stalked off to the bookshop.

Ten minutes later, she came back with ugly ginger cat. Ron had gone off, to get a new wand.

Snuffles, inexplicably, got along famously with the newly-dubbed Crookshanks. Harry just rolled her eyes, and went with it. He thought the cat was brilliant.

"Is he coming to Hogwarts with you?" Hermione asked, eyeing Snuffles.

"Dunno. If he wants, I can't stop him," Harry said.

"He's a dog, Harry."

"Yeah, but maybe he's got lady-dogs to chase. He's a big boy, Hermione, he can take care of himself."

Ron turned up, sniggering, and Harry risked a glance into Hermione's head more directly. She thought Harry was entirely too flippant, and that Harry was a bad pet owner. Harry had to admit that stung more than she'd anticipated.

As Cecilia had mentioned, sometimes it wasn't great to know what everyone else was thinking.

"I can't believe that you got that thing," Ron said, almost offended. "Des is going to be beside himself."

"Crookshanks isn't going to hurt him," Hermione replied, primly.

"He'd better not," Ron said. "Des was here first."

Desperaux was Ron's rat, complete with floppy ears and a pale, smooth expanse of fur. He liked to run away, sometimes, but always came back.

"Don't worry," Hermione said. "Crookshanks will be in my dorm, and Des in yours." She felt… oddly unconcerned, with the fact that cats hunted rats.

Ron folded his arms. "He'd better."

"Are you going to be bringing Snuffles, to Hogwarts? I don't think dogs are allowed," Hermione continued, wrinkling her nose.

"He'll be fine," Harry urged, feeling slightly fed up, and indignant that Hermione hadn't even asked Ron if it was okay, to get a cat. "I'll explain later."

"You keep saying that, Harry. When is later going to be?" she pressed.

"When we're alone," Harry said, sharply. "We can go back to my room right now, if you like."

Ron and Hermione had no real objection to this, so they set off back to the Leaky Cauldron. When they sequestered themselves in Harry's room, she shut the door, and cast a bunch of quick locking and silencing spells, then turned around, and nodded.

"If you're wondering where I was, I don't want to talk about it," she said, eyes on the floor, in the middle of the room.

"Harry…" Hermione ventured. "If you don't want to say, we understand, but Ron told me what you told him, before you disappeared."

Harry was sure she didn't want to know her thoughts. "Yes," Harry admitted, voice clipped. "The Dursleys sent me to a mental hospital. That's where I was most of the summer."

"Oh, Harry."

Harry didn't want to look at them, but Ron cleared his throat.

"Hermione explained it to me," he said. "Wizards don't really have loony bins too. It must have been horrible, locked up with the crazies."

"it wasn't like that," Harry snapped. "It wasn't great, but most of the patients were really nice people. They were just sick - their minds worked against them, more often than not."

Hermione squinted at Harry. "That's unexpectedly thoughtful of you, Harry."

Harry was quickly learning that, contrary to popular belief, Hermione did in fact censor a lot of what she thought. She shrugged.

"I said before, I don't really want to discuss it. But I got out. That's the complicated bit." She met both of them in the eyes, but didn't push through. "None of this leaves this room, alright?"

"Right," they both agreed.

"I was rescued by Sirius Black."

Ron laughed, awkwardly, and Hermione snapped, "That's not funny."

"It's not," Harry agreed. "It's true." She glanced at Snuffles. "You might as well explain."

And then he was a man again - looking better, since she'd met him. She'd taken some shears to his hair, so it looked better, if not great. She'd bought him new clothes, too - right now he was wearing black trousers, and a loose grey pullover, on top.

"Fine," he grunted. His voice still had that raspy quality. Harry supposed that there wasn't much conversation in Azkaban.

Ron went, if possible, even paler, and Hermione screamed.

"Quiet," Harry hushed.

"It's alright, Harry," Sirius said. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "I'm innocent. I didn't do any of the things I went to Azkaban for."

"Harry," Hermione said, exasperated. She didn't believe anything Sirius said. And it was a little annoying that she didn't trust Harry's judgement. "Of course you can't trust him if he says he's innocent. Do you have any proof?"

"I'm not dead, am I?" Harry let her annoyance color her tone. "If he was working for Voldemort like everyone says he is, I would have been dead weeks ago. He could have just stabbed me or cursed me instead of breaking me out of the mental hospital."

"Maybe he's trying to play the long game, or something," Hermione said, stubbornly.

"But what on earth could he possibly have to gain?" Harry asked, venomously. She was a little annoyed, by this. "He had me alone, in the Muggle world. I had no defenses, nothing else. If he really wanted to hurt me, or even kidnap me, he had all the opportunity in the world. But he brought me here, to the Leaky Cauldron. Where I'd be safe. He takes care of me."

"I'm her godfather," Sirius put in. "And her second cousin." He was a little surprised, at the way she was speaking to Hermione. Maybe Harry wasn't being fair. "Fudge visited Azkaban - left me the paper, for the crossword. And the front page was all about how Harry had disappeared. So I broke out."

Hermione was glancing between them, her jaw set. Ron just looked as pale as ever.

"Right, mate," he said. "So you didn't kill Pettigrew?"

"No. I wanted to - he was Lily and James' secret-keeper. He certainly deserved it. But no, someone got to him before me, and left me holding the wand."

Hermione huffed. "So nobody figured that out? It didn't come up in your trial?"

"I never had a trial. Ol' Crouch just tossed me right into Azkaban."

"He did not!" she protested. It was almost amusing, if it wasn't kind of horrifying. Still annoying, that it hadn't quite sunk in for Hermione that the people in charge weren't always right.

Sirius shrugged. "It was a war. Not getting a trial wasn't that uncommon. Pettigrew was dead by the time I got to him - it looked cut and dry."

"That's a serious miscarriage of justice!" Hermione protested. "Tell someone, like Professor Dumbledore!"

"It's life." Sirius didn't seem all that concerned. "Besides, Dumbledore is as likely to turn me in, as he is to get me a trial."

"There," Harry said. She was annoyed now. Did Hermione think she was stupid? Apparently. "He's staying. He broke out of jail for me, and he was my dad's best friend. I'm not passing that up, even if he is a murderer."

"I just-" Hermione started.

"Leave it, Hermione," Ron warned her. He had finally snapped out of his shock, apparently. He addressed Sirius. "If you hurt Harry, you'll have me to answer to."

Sirius just grinned. "Of course."

"Anyway," Harry said. "I'm going to go find some lunch. You should come."

"Alright," Ron said. Hermione just nodded, and Sirius was already a dog again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am genuinely curious to see what you think of my Black Family worldbuilding, here. It's a little bit out there, and as a white person I always struggle to include race in a meaningful way because I worry about my own judgement of it. However, while it might seem like this bit in particular is included solely for the diversity points, there are some important plot elements that will bring that bit of worldbuilding up in a meaningful way that impacts the rest of the story.
> 
> I also don't want to imply that there is no racism in the magical world, simply because Harry hasn't experienced any. I don't think that's true - however, I also think it can be true that Harry didn't have anyone say anything to her face.


	9. A Horrible Night to have a Curse

The next morning, they piled into a bunch of Ministry cars, finally on the way to Hogwarts.

Harry said goodbye to Sirius - it wasn't worth trying to get him up on the train, so he had planned to make his way to Hogsmeade, separately.

When they arrived at the station, Mr. Weasley seemed intent on shepherding Harry himself - he kept a tight grip on her arm the whole way through the barrier. Harry, for her part, patiently endured yet another trip to King's Cross while manhandled by a Weasley parent.

Once they'd gotten their stuff on the train and Harry had endured Mrs. Weasley's tender goodbyes, Mr. Weasley pulled her aside, mind whirling with the need to warn her.

"Harry," he said. "There's something I have to tell you before you leave."

"Oh?" Harry asked.

"It's Sirius Black. Now, I don't want you to be frightened, but he might be after you. We think that's why he broke out of prison."

Harry wasn't sure how to respond to that. "Don't worry about me, Mr. Weasley."

"Harry, I know you must be scared, but-"

"I'm not scared of Sirius Black," Harry protested. She could see that he was just worried for her, but that didn't help her frustration. She'd made it through this summer looking after herself. And, now that she was safe, suddenly everyone knew better than her, for her own safety.

"Look, I know that you can handle yourself. Just - just stay in the castle, okay? Don't go looking for him."

"Alright."

Mr. Weasley was clearly thrown by that, but he just nodded.

"Arthur! Harry has to go!" Mrs. Weasley shouted.

"Coming!"

Harry had to run to hop onto the train, but she made it, and settled into a compartment with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and R. J. Lupin. He had a small, battered trunk, and shabby, threadbare robes. He was also fast asleep.

"What did Dad want?" Ginny asked.

Harry shrugged. "He wanted to warn me off Black. Your dad thinks he's broken out to kill me."

Ron and Hermione exchanged significant looks. Harry ignored them. She didn't want to dignify that with an answer.

Ginny looked between them all, and turned to Harry. She wasn't dumb, and Harry could see that she was well used to Ron's terrible attempts at subtlety. Honestly, they weren't fooling her. Reading people's minds made it very easy to tell, really.

"I've been meaning to ask…" Ginny began, instead. "What's with the new look?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. Ginny reached out and touched the rose, in Harry's ear.

"Oh!" Harry said. "It's actually really neat." She wound it out from her ear, and handed it to Ginny. "It's supposed to style it, with magic."

Ginny took it, and wound it through her flame-red locks. "Sounds neat." She was pleased, and a little jealous - Harry hadn't even realized, but something like this was really very expensive. Ginny was rather more aware of the cost of things. Harry wasn't - the Potters were old rich money.

"New Defense teacher, do you reckon?" Ron changed the subject.

"That's obvious," Hermione put in. "It's the only vacancy."

"He looks like one good hex would finish him off," Ron muttered.

"Yeah, but Lockhart seemed like he would be an excellent teacher," Harry pointed out. "If the pattern holds true, Lupin will be great."

"I dunno," Ron said, eyeing him. "Maybe we should wait till his class, to see how he is. Can't just judge him by appearances, you know?"

"Right," Harry agreed.

"Do you hear that?" Ginny asked abruptly.

A faint whistle came, seemingly from nowhere. The sound echoed around the compartment, sounding oddly metallic.

"It's coming from your trunk, Harry," Ron said. He reached up into the luggage compartment, but he couldn't open Harry's trunk.

"Oh, right," Harry said. "I, er…" This was awkward. "Right." She looked around at the group. "This doesn't leave this room, alright?"

They all nodded, dumbly.

"I put a password, on the trunk. But, uh, it's in Parseltongue."

"You can speak _Parseltongue!?_ " Hermione half-shrieked.

"Yeah," Harry said. "I set a boa constrictor on Dudley once. It was a fun afternoon."

"Mate, that's-" Ron cleared his throat. He was obviously censoring his initial reaction. Harry didn't need to be a mind-reader to know that. "I can see why you haven't told anyone yet. It's supposed to be only Dark wizards that can speak it."

"The two most famous Parselmouths in history were Salazar Slytherin and You-Know-Who," Hermione informed them. "It's associated with Dark wizards."

"In British history," Harry said, tone deceptively mild. "It's apparently much more common in other places, like India, or southeast Asia. In fact, in those places, it's seen as a blessing." They looked at her, curiously. She shrugged. "It's hereditary, so I looked it up. It's probably more likely that I got it from my grandmother's family - the Blacks."

"It would be really, really bad for that to come out," Ron said. "Why didn't you say anything, though?"

"Never came up."

Hermione nodded, eagerly. She wanted to make up for her reaction, then.

Ginny, who had been quiet up till now, piped up. "I won't say anything. Promise."

"Alright," Harry said. " _Open_." And the trunk clicked open. Inside, her Pocket Sneakoscope was whirring - spinning very fast in the palm of her hand.

"It's very cheap," Ron muttered, his ears turning red. More worries about money, huh. It really wasn't a thing to her.

"A Sneakoscope?" Hermione asked.

"It might be broken," Harry said. "Or, who knows, it might be going off." She trailed her eyes meaningfully towards Lupin.

"It went off when I was trying to send it to Harry," Ron explained.

"Were you doing something you weren't supposed to?"

"Well, I wasn't really supposed to be using Errol," Ron said.

Ginny snorted. Hermione turned to her, and reached out. Ginny's hair had twisted itself into a tight braid. "How does it choose which hairstyle to do?"

Harry stuffed the Sneakoscope into a pair of nasty old socks, and shut the trunk with a clatter. Ron stood up, and leveraged it back up to the luggage rack for her.

"Thanks," she said to Ron. To Hermione, she shrugged. "I have no idea how it works, but it does."

"We can get the Sneakoscope checked in Hogsmeade, if you like," Ron offered, sitting back down. "They sell them in Dervish and Banges - Fred and George told me."

"I read that Hogsmeade is the only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain," Hermione said.

"Yeah, but that's not why I want to go," Ron interjected. "I want to visit Honeydukes!"

"Honeydukes?"

"It's a famous sweets shop," Ron explained, and then he went into detail about all the things that the shop sold - Pepper Imps, and Chocoballs, Fizzing Whizbees, and the like.

Hermione, meanwhile, launched into a regurgitation about the historical significance of Hogsmeade, and all the landmarks within.

Harry stayed quiet, studiously eyeing the countryside.

"You don't seem all that excited," Ginny pointed out. She'd noticed, definitely.

"I can't go," Harry said.

Ron abruptly stopped talking about sweets. "You're not allowed to go? But - no way - surely McGonagall or someone would give you permission…"

Harry laughed.

"Or we can ask Fred and George, if they know a way out of the castle-"

"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of school!"

"McGonagall is going to say the same thing," Harry said. "But I already know a way to sneak out of the castle."

"Harry!"

"Excellent," Ron said. "We can sneak you out easily, then."

"I don't think Harry should be sneaking out of school," Hermione countered.

"Just because her relatives are a bunch of no-good, dirty gits doesn't mean that she shouldn't be allowed to go to Hogsmeade. It's not fair!" Ron protested.

"Of course it's not, but that doesn't mean it's right to sneak out of school, either."

"Whatever, Hermione," Ron said.

Harry just leaned back, and ignored them.

* * *

Harry started awake. The last thing she remembered was a woman screaming like she was being murdered. Blinking open her eyes, she was a concerned-looking Ron peering down at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Harry nodded, feeling concussed.

"Who screamed?"

"Harry, no one screamed," Hermione told her, gravely. Harry felt for it - the memory was on the tip of her mind. She was telling the truth.

"Oh," Harry said. "Fun, huh?"

"Harry, you passed out," Neville said, wringing his hands. He was horrified, but Harry wanted to tell him not to worry so much. But it was one of those things - she couldn't exactly do that inconspicuously.

"Oh, you noticed?"

Ron helped her up, snickering.

Lupin snapped chocolate, and passed it around. "Eat this," he instructed. His mind was odd. She kept away from it. Was that what Occlumency felt like? "You'll feel better."

Harry took it, numbly, hands trembling. "What was that?"

"A Dementor," Lupin explained. "One of the guards of Azkaban." He didn't elaborate, however - he practically fled the compartment, looking shiftily around.

"It was horrible," Neville agreed. "Like I'd never be happy again."

"The dementor came for you, and it just looked, like it was gonna grab you, Harry," Ron explained. "And then Lupin got up, and he kinda growled, and told it to go away, and it did."

"Spooky," Harry said.

Ron rolled his eyes, but he looked relieved to see that she was feeling better enough to joke at him. The rest of them muttered about the effects of the dementor, but Harry, it seemed, was the only one that fainted. They were all worried, and a little bit freaked out by the experience. Harry was a little bit numb. She closed down that sense - it wasn't a nice feeling, feeling all those minds around her, so on edge.

Lupin came back, smiling, and announced that they'd be arriving soon. Harry was only too happy to leave the awkwardness that had settled, after being visited by a strange nightmare-wraith. She just wanted to go to bed - maybe write to Cecilia a bit, if she got the chance. And Lupin's mind was odd. She didn't want to touch it until she was in a better state of mind. It was a bit unnerving, really.

But instead, she was shepherded by Ron up to the carriages, all the way to the castle. Ron seemed to be careful to make sure she didn't faint again, or wander off, or something. She could take care of herself - maybe it was the Legilimency, that made her more susceptible to dementors.

Malfoy attempted to mock her for fainting to the dementor. Ron protested in her defense, but Harry just whipped out her wand and hit him with a Babbling Hex, instead. He thought her weak. She couldn't have that.

"Is there a problem?" Lupin asked, from out of nowhere. He apparently was capable of being silent, when he wanted to be. She hadn't even noticed him. Another weird thing.

Malfoy turned pink, and said, "Boo moo choo choo."

Lupin frowned, and cast _Finite_.

"She cursed me!"

Lupin raised an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Harry just shrugged. "Chat shite, get banged," she said. Words of wisdom from Gin.

His eyes seemed to flicker, and Harry risked a glimpse - but instead of a calm pool of water, a raging rapids hid behind his eyes. She could sense nothing - or, perhaps, too many things to parse.

"Detention, I think," he said. "Since I'm not sure I can even take points before the start of term."

Harry laughed, and brushed by him, into the Entrance Hall. There was something darkly satisfying about hexing Malfoy like that, but she knew that she'd need to learn something more. He clearly wasn't developing the necessary fear of her with just the Babbling Hex. Something to ask Cecilia about, for sure.

"Granger!" McGonagall barked, full of strange thoughts about… time travel? Hermione went along to her. They walked off, away from the feast.

"What was all that about, d'ya reckon?" Ron asked Harry.

She shrugged. "Beats me." Explaining would be a lot of effort, even if it explained the whole classes thing.

They settled into the table to watch the Sorting, and Harry found herself exhausted, and her headache pounding, for the second year in a row. The Hall was full of black robes, and the seething masses of humanity were overwhelming to her senses. There were just too many minds, full of too many emotions. She didn't want to bother with them, and it hurt, trying not to feel anything.

Flitwick placed the hat upon the stool, and it sang again - Harry tuned it out, settling her head onto Ron's shoulder.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Tired. The dementor took a lot out of me," Harry told him.

"Ah," he said, and spooned a bunch of chicken onto her plate. "Eat this, and then you can sleep."

Harry narrowed her eyes at him, and for once, resisted seeing what he was thinking. "Fine, fine. Slave-driver."

He made a whipping motion. Harry ignored him.

Hermione and McGonagall finally arrived back in the Hall, Hermione easing into a seat next to Ron.

"What was that all about?" he asked, but Dumbledore got up to speak.

"Hello, hello, hello!" he said. He gave a speech - about dementors, and the new professors this term - Remus Lupin as the Defense professor, and, surprisingly, Hagrid, as the new Care of Magical Creatures one. That explained the biting book, then.

Harry grinned. It looked like a good year to come, dementors notwithstanding.

* * *

The dog padded down the street, easy as anything. He wasn't quite nearly so ragged, anymore - he had gained weight, recently, and he was now merely thin, instead of skeletal. He arrived at Number Four, the same place he'd been nearly a month before.

The house was empty, and so the dog hopped over the fence and around the back. He padded softly up to the back door, where he turned into a man.

Sirius Black prided himself on his abilities as a prankster. He could have come here and tortured Petunia Evans and her new family to kingdom come, but he was a prankster. Sure, it would be awful, but pranks had a whole dimension of torment. This would be the gift that kept on giving. Far worse than just pain.

Really, everyone thought that his cousin Bella was the scariest Black, but he thought she was somewhat uninspired. There were only so many times you could cast disembowelment curses before they became trite.

This, on the other hand - he was hoping that this would torment Petunia for years to come.

He unlocked the door, and stepped in. The house was ghastly - Grimmauld Place was better, and that had been decorated by his mum. She might have been an old cow obsessed with black and green and silver, and entirely too fond of snakes, but she wasn't… this. Whatever this was. Antiseptic, sterile, like a hospital room. Not much like a home. He was glad that Harry didn't have to come back to these people.

Awful - the worst kind of Muggles. Sirius Black wasn't a man who hated Muggles - no, he was a man who hated Petunia.

He stepped into hall, past the garish linoleum, and up the stairs. He was looking for that bitch's bedroom, that she shared with her fat whale of a husband.

Sirius Black was missing lots of memories. Azkaban did that to a guy. And the problem was that he often missed the happiest ones. But the nice thing was that lots of memories weren't necessarily good. Lots of memories were just okay - like the time that Lily had admitted that she wanted very dearly to get a cat, but wasn't allowed, because Petunia was allergic.

That wasn't really a happy memory - it had just enough bitterness, tinged with annoyance at his own mother's refusal to get any pets - _animals are for lesser wizards, Sirius_ \- that he could recall it.

And thus, he was here. He opened the door to the master bedroom. Ugh, all this floral print. And they had a real problem with crochet covering. It also smelled like bleach, somehow, in the bedroom. Which was… well, that was the weirdest thing so far. The thing that he found the most uncomfortable. What was Petunia bleaching in here?

Well, she'd have real reason to use bleach, from now on. He stood on the bed, heedlessly tracking mud onto the pink comforter, and hung the small choker from the ceiling fan. The thin collar was originally a gift to Harry, but he figured she wouldn't have half as good a use for it as this. Besides, this was as much a present to her as it was to him.

Sirius waved his wand a time or two, and tricked the collar into thinking it was around a neck.

He grinned, to himself, and cast a strong Muggle-Repelling charm on the choker. They wouldn't find it in a million years, and the cats would love it.

Even as he dashed from the house, he passed a cat, sitting at the door. He opened it, wider, to let the cat in.


	10. Lessons

The next day, Harry was only too happy to ditch Ron and Hermione and practically sprinted to the Room of Requirement. Harry opened it up, and slapped the diary onto the small pedestal inside, and turned, seeing Cecilia, standing there, as tall and elegant as ever.

Her mind was fascinating - Harry could feel her, almost like another serpent, in the waves, brushing up against her - not violently, or roughly, but smooth as silk. Her mind was so fast - she could parse through things like someone flipping through a book. It was impressive.

Harry surprised herself with how bright her grin was.

"Hello, Harriet."

"Cecilia!" she said. "I missed you!"

"You and I spoke all summer, though."

Harry laughed. "It's not the same! I missed speaking like this. It's much better than writing to you in a diary."

Cecilia smiled, eyes glowing with warmth. "Would you like to learn some magic?"

"Yes!" Harry shouted. "Can I know how to do the wand thing where you bat spells aside like they're nothing?"

"Not for a short time yet, sadly. Maybe next year." Harry made a face, and Cecilia just chuckled at her. "First, I want to see how far you've gotten," Cecilia told her. "Look at me."

Harry met her eyes, and dove eagerly into the pool of water. But instead of emotions and memories, she found herself facing a terrifyingly strong current - she was thrown, instantly, back into her own head. Cecilia flicked through some memories of her writing in the diary, before she looked away. Again, so fast!

"I see," Cecilia said. "It appears that Occlumency will come less easily to you than Legilimency did."

"It will?" Harry asked. "How do you know?"

"You have a remarkable ability to penetrate other people's minds, Harriet. But your skill at keeping others out is something far closer to average. In a battle of Legilimens, it is generally the person who has greater skill in Occlumency who comes out ahead."

"So what's the point of learning advanced Legilimency?"

Cecilia nodded. "The advantage that a skilled Legilimens has is not in the strength of a direct attack, but rather the subtlety of their intrusion. The best defenses in the world are useless if you are unaware you are being attacked."

"I think I get that," Harry said. "We're practicing Occlumency, then?"

"I am well aware that it is not the most exciting magic - it is difficult, and strenuous. But you have been away from here all summer, so that can wait until next time. It is something we will have to practice - that is the only way to improve."

"Okay," Harry said. She didn't want to push it, but it sounded like she was getting out of having her mind raided today.

"So." Cecilia strode out to the circle, and Harry followed. "We are going to learn a bit of strategy."

"Strategy?" Harry asked.

"Yes." She flicked her wand, and a shining silver sphere encased her. "You're going to try to break my shield. Extra credit will be awarded if you can."

"Extra credit?"

Cecilia winked.

Harry steeled herself, and raised her wand. " _Expelliarmus!_ " The bright red spell coursed through the air towards Cecilia's shield… and bounced right off, rebounding through the air.

It hit Harry, right in the chest, and threw her off her feet, her wand flying from her hand. Harry was glad that she'd forgotten that Black family ring, now. She had to awkwardly get up, and jog over to her fallen wand. That clearly wasn't going to work. If she knew Cecilia, there was some point to be made here.

She pried a little at Cecilia's mind, but it was locked up tight - or, rather, that wasn't quite the right way to put it. It was a whirlwind, one that she couldn't pierce, the dark currents too quick and too churning to discern anything but the most surface emotions - amusement, mostly.

She cast a few other spells - a Full-Body Bind, a Finger-Removing Hex, and even a Babbling Hex, but none of those worked. They all bounced off - like the Disarming Charm did.

Harry stopped, and pondered for a second. Clearly, hexes and jinxes weren't going to work.

" _Incendio!_ " Fire shot from the tip of her wand, and tickled the barrier, but didn't push through. Cecilia smiled at her, through the silver-white haze.

"Better," she said.

Harry frowned, and tried something else. " _Diffindo!_ " The blue arc of light again, bounced off. She wasn't sure what else would work.

"Giving up?" Cecilia taunted.

"No," Harry said. "Not yet."

"Well, you're on the right track," she said.

"I'm pretty sure I don't know any spells to get through that barrier."

"So give up."

Harry shook her head. She considered the problem - the shield reflected every jinx, hex, or curse she sent. The three charms she tried - Expelliarmus, Incendio, and Diffindo, had pretty much bounced off. So what to try? It was a shield - not unlike the one that blockaded them inside the circle.

The spell that had made the biggest dent back then had been - well, Harry was pretty sure she could cast it. She'd never tried before.

It was the last thing she could think of, though, so she raised her wand, and copied the funny arc that Cecilia had made. " _Lacero!_ "

A bright, red slash of light flickered into motion, but it was thin, and barely fizzled as it hit the shield. Harry sighed, disappointed.

"Oh, very good, Harry," Cecilia taunted. "That was rather poor technique, though. You need to be more confident, and your motion could be better. Shorten the first swoop - more an L than a V."

Harry tried again, this time following the directions. The spell came out stronger, and sparks flew as it dug into the shield. It held, however, and Harry's spell dissipated.

"I think you can break this shield, if you keep at it." Cecilia was smiling, a calm, victorious thing. "You are too reluctant, and your casting is suffering for it. You have to want to hurt me, Harriet."

"I don't want to hurt you, though."

"I will not let the spell hit me, even if it breaks the shield. You need to put some effort into it. It isn't as simple as just waving a wand and saying a few words. You have to put your will behind that intent. Put everything you have into it."

Harry lowered her wand. "It's not - isn't that what everyone's been warning me about?"

Cecilia laughed - but it wasn't warm, it was wintry wind howling over a lonely mountaintop. "No. It's not. I have told you not to let the magic rule you. If you are too frightened to attempt these spells, then you have lost already."

Harry shrugged. She wasn't sure what to say.

"I really don't want to hurt anyone."

"Then you are a fool! If you cannot even muster up the smallest ounce of determination, to defend yourself, you may as well offer yourself up to Voldemort right now! Witches and wizards who fall are those who let the magic consume them, until it rules everything they do - they cannot stop themselves. They become murderers, hunted by the law, and put down like the _beasts_ they've become."

Harry glared. She was annoyed with Cecilia - what did it matter? It was just a stupid spell. Fine. If she wanted anger, she'd get anger.

Raising her wand again, hands trembling, she concentrated on what she wanted to do, this time thinking of wiping that smug, patronizing smirk off of Cecilia's face.

She slashed her wand.

" _Lacero!_ "

This time, the red arc glowed, and bit into the shield with a wet noise, like barbecuing meat. The shield held, for a long second, and Harry thought that she might not have done it. Then it popped, and the spell was through -

It splashed against the far edge of the wards, and Cecilia clapped from where she was suddenly standing, a few feet to the side. Harry gaped at her, slightly. Cecilia casually ejected Harry from her mind again.

"Well done!"

"What if you hadn't dodged it?"

Cecilia snickered. "I can dodge one Lacerating Curse, thank you. But more importantly, you succeeded. There was more than one solution, but this one certainly counts."

Harry goggled. "It took me forever to break the shield, though. And I wouldn't ever use that spell in a real duel."

"You'll use whatever will keep you alive. This isn't a game, Harriet. Jinxes and hexes will only get you so far. While they are very useful for incapacitating opponents - one good hit will end the duel - there is a weakness to these types of spells," Cecilia lectured.

"They bounce off shields?" Harry asked, dryly.

"Some shields, yes. For the most part, these spells are easy to deflect, or block. The shield I just demonstrated - creatively named the Shield Charm - is one such example. Many adult wizards find themselves stymied by them, unless they are willing to resort to the Unforgivables."

"Unforgivables?"

"Yes," Cecilia's mouth twisted in distaste. "Three spells that kill, torture and dominate. Unblockable, and very illegal. Dark magic by anyone's definition, as well. We've mentioned the Imperius Curse a little bit before - that's one of them."

"Oh," Harry said. She wasn't completely sure how to put all the things she was feeling into words.

"The point of today's little demonstration, however, is that shields are generally effective against spells that incapacitate easily, and spells that are effective against shields are generally ones that will not completely incapacitate someone. The Stunning Spell, which most adult wizards use to incapacitate an opponent, has almost no effect on anything that doesn't have a nervous system. Conversely, the Reductor Curse, which is designed for destroying physical objects, has a reduced effect on magical defenses, and almost no effect on living organisms."

"So, it's like a trade-off?" Harry asked. "Like Rock Paper Scissors."

Cecilia's eye twitched, and Harry could feel the irritation because of her Legilimency. Cecilia was practically shouting it in her thoughts.

"I suppose such a comparison is not inaccurate."

"So, what? I need to learn spells to break shields, not just hexes? I can do that."

"It is more complicated than that," Cecilia explained. "The reason that the Shield Charm is so effective is that it effectively counters a very wide range of simple spells. Against a reasonably skilled opponent, however, it is significantly less useful. For example, while it won't defeat an opponent by itself, a banishing charm would have been just as effective for this demonstration - it would have forced me to drop my shield, with enough force.

"That's what we're going to start covering - all spells are not created equal, in serious dueling. We are going to round out your spell repertoire - useful, quick, efficient spells to poke at your enemy's defenses, spell combinations to keep your opponent behind a shield, and yes, powerful spells to break those shields. More than simply learning spells, we will unpack and examine the ebb and flow of combat - when to attack, when to block, when to dodge, and when to stop and draw a runic spell that can level a small building."

"Okay," Harry said. "So, I get it, I think. Where do we start?"

* * *

The next morning, Malfoy thought it was wise to re-enact Harry fainting from the dementor. He thought he was so funny - it was sort of pathetic, exactly how funny he thought he was. Harry wanted to disabuse him of this notion, but they were in the middle of the Great Hall. Instead, she let Ron lead her to the table, with Fred and George. One of these days, she needed to figure something out that would stop Malfoy for good - she might have admired his tenacity, if he wasn't harassing her.

At the table, they learned that while Ron had Divination, Hermione had about three subjects this morning - Harry and Ron exchanged significant looks at Hermione's insistence that nothing was off - and Harry, somehow, had the morning off.

So she said goodbye to Ron and Hermione as they set off for one of the towers, to learn the art of discerning the future.

Harry wandered back up to the Room of Requirement, to chat with Cecilia for a little while, returning back to the rest of the Gryffindors for Transfiguration with Professor McGonagall.

She was only too pleased to listen to the details of the Animagus transformation - Sirius could turn into a dog, and that seemed incredibly useful. And, her father had been one too - it was another link, to a parent that she barely knew anything about.

"Is Miss Potter the only one here interested in the Animagus transformation?" Professor McGonagall asked. "I don't think I've ever seen a class so unimpressed."

"We just had Divination, Professor," Hermione explained.

"Ah. That will explain it. Which one of you is to die, then?"

Harry almost burst into laughter, before she looked around, and realized that no one was laughing - they all looked pale, and grave.

"Me," Hermione said. "But I think it sounded like a load of tosh."

Harry saw Parvati and Lavender exchange a significant look, and Ron let out a half-cough that was obviously covering for a laugh. Apparently, Lavender and Parvarti thought Trelawney knew what she was talking about. Huh. Ron thought she was shite.

"Sybill Trelawney makes a spectacle of predicting a student's death every year. Rest assured, Miss Granger, I doubt that any harm will come to you."

Hermione nodded, reassured. McGonagall, with her usual aplomb, returned to discussing Transfiguration. Harry was honestly rather more trusting of McGonagall's opinion, quite frankly.

She was very much looking forward to Care of Magical Creatures, after lunch, but Malfoy managed to completely ruin a perfectly good lesson by getting himself mauled by a hippogriff. If he wanted to injure himself, she was fine with it, but doing it to get Hagrid in trouble was just uncalled for.

It sounded very much like he hadn't learned his lesson from last year - a whole summer without her must have allowed him to get ideas again. She'd have to correct that, sometime soon.

* * *

Harry held the letter, in her hands. Sirius had finally written back - warning her not to use Hedwig, since a snowy owl was very noticeable. Funny, how he wasn't the one who had to explain this to Hedwig. That still wasn't the most interesting thing about his letter - he mentioned that the childhood trio of Potter, Black, and Pettigrew had a fourth, Remus Lupin.

Harry had detention with him that evening. A part of her wasn't sure what to think - half of her wanted to charge into his office and demand where he had been her whole life, and an equally angry part of her wanted nothing to do with him. She wanted to know, first, however, whether it was something he would admit to, or if it was something she would have to drag out of him.

This also meant that Lupin knew what Sirius' animagus form was, and would recognize it. Sirius had decided, after hearing that Harry had fainted on the train, that it was best to leave England for a while - he planned to let Muggles see him in some country far from Hogwarts, to draw off the Dementors.

Harry found herself grateful - the dementor had not been kind, and Malfoy seemed bound and determined to make fun of her for it. She'd have to pay him back soon, once she was done with paying her debt to the school for the skirmish on the train station.

When Harry approached Professor Lupin's office, she found him waiting for her, with a small, gentle smile on his face. Harry eyed him, warily, and tried to look behind his eyes, but Lupin didn't have a pool, in his mind. Instead, there was only a brief, vivid sensation of fury before she was back in her own head.

He didn't say anything, though. Instead, he brought her into his office. Unlike Lockhart, Lupin's office was sparse, and her attention was immediately drawn to a large tank, the largest piece of furniture in the room.

"I was going to focus on dark creatures, with your year. I was thinking that you might help me set up this tank for a Grindylow, for our class."

"Sure," Harry said. It wasn't like she had much of a choice.

He set her to scrubbing, at first, while he fiddled with some papers at his desk. She was no stranger to such things - never a tank like this, but scrubbing was scrubbing.

Lupin was content to watch her, for a while, before he commented, "So, dare I ask why you felt the need to attack Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry eyed him, but she wasn't keen to repeat the experience of seeing whatever was in his mind.

There really was no good way to phrase it. "He's made it his mission this year, to mock me for fainting from the Dementors."

"I see," Lupin whispered, almost to himself. "There is nothing to be ashamed about fainting from Dementors, Harry. It merely means that you have horrors in your past that others do not."

Harry rolled her eyes at the tank she was still in the midst of cleaning. "I don't care about that," she protested. "It's crap, yeah, but life's crap."

"Then, why did you feel the need to curse Mr. Malfoy?"

Harry glared at him. Didn't he understand? "He's an arrogant, bullying toerag. But I'm much better at magic than he is, so I make him stop. I thought he understood that - how things worked. But apparently, he's spent an entire summer bigging himself up again inside his own head. I hexed him, to take him down a notch."

She watched the emotions play across his face. Learning Legilimency had done very little for her ability to read faces, so she couldn't be totally sure what he was thinking.

"I see," he finally said. "You should not use violence to solve your problems."

Harry laughed, a low and dry thing. "It's all well and good to say that, Professor, but life isn't a nice PSA about bullying. Some bullies don't stop until you _make_ them."

"A PSA?"

"It's a muggle thing. Like, sort of a government ad about a health risk - like a disease or drugs or something."

"Oh." Lupin didn't say anything after that, seemingly lost for words. Harry just shrugged, and went back to scrubbing.

After a few minutes, she decided to broach what had been bugging her about what he'd said. "What's a dark creature?"

"Oh." Lupin laughed, a little bit. Harry looked down, in shame, but Lupin quickly told her, "Don't worry, that was a very good question."

"I just - I know what dark magic is, at least by a few definitions. But I've never heard anything about dark creatures. Of course, I've only had one lesson of Care of Magical Creatures, and I can't say we did much learning in there, honestly."

He nodded, and stroked his chin. "I heard about that. A student was injured?"

"Yeah. Malfoy. In fact, this is just more evidence to support my point with him. He didn't listen to instructions, and got mauled for it. So now, instead of admitting that he was the one in the wrong, he's trying to get Hagrid sacked, and the Hippogriff executed. I told you, he needs lessons repeated, and continually reinforced for them to penetrate his thick skull."

"Miss Potter," he scolded.

"What? It's true! He's an idiot!"

"Regardless of whether he is or not, it's not acceptable to call your fellow students names."

Harry rolled her eyes. "Whatever. Dark creatures, remember?"

He frowned. "I'm afraid I must insist, Harry. Stop. Unless you want another detention?"

She shook her head.

He nodded. "As to your question, the classification of 'dark creature' does not technically exist. You're correct, there, but it's more of an informal category that discusses creatures typically covered in the Defense Against the Dark Arts curriculum. These are labelled as such because they are the ones that are likely to attack and pose a threat to wizardkind. I have planned for us to focus on such things in this year of instruction."

Harry thought through that. "So it's a bit like dark magic? Like, most people use dark magic to talk about magic that's likely to hurt people, so dark creatures are the same."

"Yes. there is no special quality to these creatures that sets them apart from any other. It's just a bit of informal description. You'll likely find it in certain textbooks, but those are generally unreliable."

"Unreliable?"

He made a displeased face. "Yes. If a book uses that kind of verbal shorthand, it is almost guaranteed that it does not treat its subjects with a useful amount of nuance."

"Okay." She went back to scrubbing.

* * *

Malfoy took an entire two days off, for Buckbeak. Harry had absolutely no sympathy for him, when he showed up to Snape's class, late, with an arm in a sling.

Snape was somehow absolutely ironclad, in his mind. Like an abyss, underneath the sea. Harry couldn't help but notice. She could tell that he was _very_ talented in Occlumency. She stayed well enough away.

She had even less sympathy for him when he plopped himself down, next to her and Ron, and drawled, "Sir, I'll need help cutting my daisy roots, you know, because of my arm…"

"Weasley, cut Malfoy's roots for him."

Ron looked mutinous. "There's nothing wrong with your arm," he hissed.

At Snape's furious expression, he grudgingly pulled the roots over, and proceeded to mangle them completely. Malfoy complained, and Snape made him switch them.

He wasn't done, however. Harry had the pleasure of skinning Malfoy's shrivelfig. He leaned over.

"I hope that fat oaf is happy, now that's he's going to lose his job," he muttered.

"He's not the only one going to lose something, if you keep it up," Ron warned.

"My father was very upset to hear of my injury, you know. He wrote to the other governors right away."

"What do you want, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "Some of us are trying to brew potions, if you hadn't noticed."

"Maybe you should be worrying more about being a good little schoolgirl," Malfoy taunted.

Harry ignored him. She knew exactly what he was saying, of course. It was obvious, in his mind. She knew. He had learned a little bit of Occlumency, but not enough to notice her. Surprisingly, his mind offered a bit of resistance - a tiny bit, certainly not enough to stop her, like the waters were choppy, and rough.

"I would have done something about him by now, if it were me."

"What on earth are you on about, Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"You mean you don't know?"

"No, we have no idea what you're talking about," Harry put in. "Since you've not actually mentioned anyone by name yet."

"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck. But I wouldn't just leave him to the dementors, you know. I'd want _revenge_ ," he hissed.

He actually thought he'd have the balls to go looking for the man who had killed his parents. How delusional.

"What makes you think I haven't already gotten my revenge, this summer?" Harry asked. "How do you know he's not just dead in a ditch somewhere? It's not like I'd want anyone to know it, if I had killed him already."

Malfoy paled, and Harry forced the memory of her hexing him last winter, when he'd cornered her with Crabbe and Goyle.

"Take care, Malfoy. It won't be a Babbling Hex, next time."

Snape called an end to the lesson, then, threatening Neville's toad with his poor potion-making skills. Harry thought that Neville wasn't great at potions, but openly mocking him seemed a poor way to help him improve. Of course, Snape wasn't a great teacher. That was nothing new.

When Neville's potion failed to kill Trevor, Snape took points from Gryffindor.

But instead of dismissing them all, he said, "Miss Potter, stay behind."

Harry did so, feeling a nervous kind of trepidation. She kept a careful sort of eye on the corner of Snape's desk, as everyone filed out of the classroom. The scratching of shoes on stone and the clink of cauldrons and the plunk of books, were followed by the clack of the door, shutting.

For a low moment, there was only silence.

"Miss Potter," Snape said, and, for once, there wasn't even a hint of anger in his voice, "look at me."

She did, and -

It was worse, than Cecilia. Snape's mind was like grasping, furious fingers, ice digging into her head, dragging her hair through the last few months. Oddly, he seemed to gloss over the presence of Cecilia.

Finally, he was done. Harry had a pounding headache, and she sought the cool darkness of the table, in relief. Her hands trembled, violently.

"You have a talent that is frequently called natural Legilimency," Snape repeated, after a pause. "I… also have this talent."

"Oh," Harry said.

"Quite," he muttered, sighing. He sounded unbearably put-upon. Harry resisted the temptation to poke at his mind. In fact, it might be advisable to avoid poking at any of the professors' minds, considering that there were two that she couldn't read at all.

"It is rare," he admitted. "Rare enough that I have only met one other person with it, before you. You appear to be very talented in Legilimency, far more than Occlumency. The former is the art of penetrating others' minds. The latter is the art of protecting one's own. My own talents lie in Occlumency."

"You feel… like a black hole, sir. Like the part of the ocean where no light penetrates." She risked a glance up at him, but she kept her mental fingers far away from his mind.

"It is not uncommon, in people like us, for our minds to… wander. You will keep what you learn to yourself. It is inevitable, that you will learn a great many things about your classmates. If I hear anything about that, you will be in more detention than even you, Miss Potter, will be able to muddle through. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor," she said. "I understand. I was - well, I wasn't planning on abusing it."

"Keep it that way. It is - understandable, that these things will happen. And it is… not something that you can help."

Harry didn't say the thing at the tip of her tongue - that he certainly hadn't hesitated to hold her parentage against her, and, in fact, she could help that a whole lot less than she could help this. But that wasn't - Snape was being sort of nice, for once - and that was only going to lose her points.

"Is there a… method, to control it?"

"Time," Snape said, unhelpfully. "Now, you have a class to get to, I am sure. Detention, Friday, with me, and ten points from Gryffindor, for using your abilities on Mr. Malfoy. Do not allow me to see you doing that again."

"Thank you, Professor," Harriet said, and escaped, before he changed his mind.

After her detention, Harry admittedly wasn't expecting very much from Lupin's first class, admittedly. It wasn't like creatures were her primary interest, when it came to Defense Against the Dark Arts.

So, when he showed them the Boggart, in the teacher's lounge wardrobe, Harry was pleasantly surprised. Using Neville to demonstrate was clever, too, because it put him in a situation where he could succeed.

The rest of the class, too, got a stab at the Boggart, but when it came for Harry's turn, Lupin stepped forward. Ron's legless spider vanished.

A man stood there, fat and short, but she couldn't get a good look at him, since he was covered in dark blood. Harry had no idea who he was. He went to shout at Lupin, but Lupin was faster.

" _Riddikulus!_ " he shouted, and the man was blasted back, into the wardrobe, shutting it tightly. Harry had to wonder at that - who on earth would Lupin be so frightened of?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You might have noticed Snape not being a total, petty dickhead here. Not saying he's perfect, but I find him a bit annoying, sometimes, the way the text seems to treat him as just wholly hypocritical, and wholly unable to move on from James Potter. I'm trying to write him as less so, as many fanfictions do. I do feel like there is some disconnect between the way he's talked and written about and the way he acts - like Dumbledore. Feel free to disagree, but I just didn't want to write another horrible, mean, petty man because Rowling keeps stealing things from Roald Dahl's playbook.


	11. Lectures

Later, when Harry accompanied Hermione to the Study of Ancient Runes, she was excited. The professor, Babbling, was supposed to be good - she was a dark-skinned woman with a thick accent, and lovely black curly hair.

Harry had seen Cecilia demonstrate and mention a couple of runic spells: spells that were drawn onto the air with runes, something much more versatile and powerful than simple wand movements and incantation. However, she was soon to discover, these were something that would only be covered partly in seventh year, so there was a lot to learn before then.

A lot to learn, as it turned out, was three new languages - or most of them. Ancient Runes was exactly that - learning the basics and grammar of runic languages, which were somehow better for magic than English. Harry really didn't understand why. What she did understand was that it was a lot of nasty, finicky memorization.

Of course, nasty, finicky memorization was exactly what Hermione loved. She absolutely loved Ancient Runes. Harry didn't really love Ancient Runes - she liked the idea of what it could give her, but the thing itself was still up in the air.

* * *

Harry plopped herself down on the lounger, in the Room, and asked, "How do I curse someone so badly that they leave me and mine alone?"

Cecilia snorted, and Harry found herself surprised by the inelegance of the expression. Her head throbbed, from the Legilimency that they'd just practiced. That was part of the reason she'd asked in the first place - she didn't want to go running to Cecilia at the first sign of trouble, after all.

"Is this a hypothetical question? Or is that Malfoy boy still at it?"

"It's Malfoy," Harry sighed.

"There is no easy answer, then. If he was that easy to ward off, you would have done so last year, when you thoroughly trounced him, both times."

Harry made a frustrated noise. "So there's nothing I can do?"

"Harriet, whining like that is unbecoming." Harry turned, and met clever, arresting eyes. "I did not say that. It is merely a thin line we must walk - something damaging enough that he will reconsider his actions, and yet, something that can avoid the notice of the lawful authorities."

"You make it sound so easy."

"It is not."

Harry rolled her eyes. "Well, go on then. Clearly, there has to be some kind of clever dark spell that will curse him and make it so he can't blab about it."

Cecilia's face went completely blank, like someone had turned off all the emotion. "You will not be using any dark magic at Hogwarts, unless it is literally a matter of life and death."

Harry gaped. "Really? After all that about the definitions of dark magic and how the classifications were 'unsatisfying?' What was that for, if you don't want me using it at all at school? You practically _made_ me use that dark spell last time!"

There was something terrible and cold, gathering in Cecilia's eyes, like a lake icing over, in fast-forward. Her mind was turbulent, like rushing, roaring rapids. A tsunami of hate.

"Have you learned nothing, you silly little fool? Dark magic will leave irreversible marks on him. I pushed you to use that spell so you could use it on Voldemort! On Death Eaters! On psychotic criminals to stop them from _murdering you_! Not on some privileged schoolboy who doesn't know when to quit.

"If he shows up, cursed to hell and back, Albus Dumbledore and the rest of the teachers at this school will begin a witch hunt - _literally_!"

Harry flinched away. "I'm sorry. It was stupid - I should never have-"

"Get out!" Cecilia shrieked. "Don't come back until you realize just what you've proposed!"

Harry ran. It was ten minutes later, in the common room, that she finally got her hands to stop shaking.

* * *

Harry had left the diary in the Room, but she dared not return right away. In fact, it took three days and two more renditions of her fainting fit before she swallowed her fear and returned.

It also put something into horrible perspective: Cecilia might have simply been Harry's close confidant - and probably best friend - but, to Cecilia, Harry was her whole world. Even if their argument had been much worse, it wasn't in Harry to abandon Cecilia over just one fight. And, even if their differences turned out to be irreconcilable, she realized that she would not abandon the diary. She would pass it on.

It was the least she could do, for someone who had given her so much.

So, she stepped through the doors to the Room, with her heart in her throat. Cecilia turned, lowering her wand. She was standing in the middle of the circle, with the bubble of magic raised around her. A thin layer of greenish smoke filled the air, and Harry was reminded of the acrid scent of burning tobacco.

"Hello, Harriet."

"I'm sorry!" Harry blurted out. "I wasn't thinking, and you never make a big deal out of dark magic, and I guess I just...didn't think…" she trailed off awkwardly.

"I am also sorry," Cecilia said. Her tone was grave, and she even gave a small curtsey. "I stand by my point, but the way I articulated it was needlessly antagonistic and unkind."

Harry narrowed her eyes. "I don't know if I can forgive you if you're going to use so many big words."

Cecilia's eyebrow ticked upwards. "Funny. Pot, meet kettle. You have a suspiciously good vocabulary, for a thirteen-year-old."

She shrugged. "I read as a kid. It was one of the few things that the Dursleys didn't object to - kept me out of the way, and quiet."

"I see. The orphanage was similar," Cecilia said, with a faraway look. "I do not think it is wise to use dark magic against your classmates. Against a Death Eater, I wholeheartedly support it, but there are better ways to humble Malfoy."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "Like what?"

"The easiest and likely most effective answer is Legilimency. However, it is not something we could do today, or even soon. It would require a fine control that you have not quite mastered, yet."

"Right. I'd expected that." She glanced at Cecilia, shrewdly. "There was something else, though. Snape, the Potions professor, caught me out using Legilimency. Apparently he's got a talent too. He read my mind, but he didn't seem to notice you. Care to explain?"

Cecilia was suspiciously still. She folded her arms, very deliberately. A hint of danger in the pose.

"I took steps, to ensure my presence would not be… noticed. You would almost certainly be in Azkaban, if I had not." Cecilia sounded almost defensive.

"I thought this ritual wasn't going to be doing anything like that," Harry said.

"It's not that," Cecilia corrected. Something sharp was in her tone, a discordant note. "It's in the diary itself." She glanced, over at Harry, cool eyes flinty. "I have no intention of being destroyed."

Harry took a deep breath. It was cold and it was deceptive, and she'd wished that Cecilia had told her about it, but there was more to it than that - Snape would not have hesitated to turn her in.

"There are no shortcuts to learning Legilimency, then?"

"No. We are on track to do so, but I am afraid that I can offer no simple solution for you here. We can continue to learn creative and cruel hexes to dissuade him again."

"Oh?" Harry asked. "I like learning hexes."

"Perhaps a consistent stream of painful and debilitating spells will teach him a useful lesson. Here, we are not going to concern ourselves with the utility of spells - you have said that you are, by now, far more skilled than Malfoy, at magic."

"Good."

"First, we will start with the Hair-Removal Hex. It is unusual, because there are two different wand motions. One configuration makes the removal temporary, while another makes it permanent," Cecilia explained.

Harry grinned, bouncing on her heels. "So I can permanently curse Malfoy's hair off?"

"Yes. I would not advise using that version on his head hair, as that will invite too much reprisal. But that doesn't mean you can't use the permanent version on… other places." Cecilia had a strange look on her face - a wry tilt of her mouth that Harry couldn't quite decipher. "I can speak from experience that if Malfoy is anything like his grandfather, he has very girly legs, once they're hairless."

Harry laughed - the sound surprising even her, considering she sounded half-hysterical. "Girly?" she asked.

Cecilia made a show of brushing dirt off her shoulder. "Of course. Sometimes, men need to be reminded that women are not inferior. Abraxas Malfoy took a few reminders, to learn that lesson. The incantation is _Evanus Cappilus_." She demonstrated both wand movements - a small cross, and a thin V.

"Alright," Harry said, copying her motions. "Thanks. I suppose that's much easier than shaving, huh?"

"Yes," Cecilia agreed. "Magic is truly a wonderful thing. Now, next, the Nail-Removing Hex. This one is far more painful, rather than humiliating."

She demonstrated, and Harry copied the motions. "That looks painful," she remarked.

"Well, yes, and it's annoying, to have no fingernails. Finally, let's learn one more. Hmm… how about the Kneecap-Reversing Jinx? Seems like it might help, in case he tries to get away."

"Lovely," Harry said. "I like the way your mind works."

* * *

Lupin perpetually seemed tired - now, he was even more so. "Harriet, please."

Harry sighed and looked up from her reading. "Yes, professor?"

"How would you defeat a Red Cap?"

"Desiccating Hex." She turned back to the Diary.

"Miss Potter!" he nearly shouted. Confused, she looked back up. For the first time, something broke though his unflappable geniality. He looked pale, pale and frightened. "Would you care to explain where you learned a spell like that?"

She looked up again. "A spell like that? It's just a hex."

Lupin sighed, exaggerated and emphatic. "No, Miss Potter. It is a fifth-year spell that has recently been classified as dark magic by the ministry."

"Recently?" Harry asked, feeling her face heat up. "How recently is recently?"

"Oh, twenty years ago," Lupin said. "But that's enough of that. The proper way to deal with a Red Cap is simple: they cannot handle a barrage of drying charms. See me after class, Miss Potter."

The class went up with a furtive declaration of "Ooooh!" and that was that. Harry, red, turned back to the Diary.

_The Desiccating Hex is dark magic now, apparently._

_It became classified as such after my time, I imagine. I apologize, but it is difficult to anticipate what the pack of fearful sheep that calls itself the Wizengamot will do._

_I just wish you told me that it could be dangerous._

_How could I have known? I think it's foolish to even ban a spell like that. It's far easier to seriously hurt someone with a spell like Diffindo, or even Wingardium Leviosa, but I digress. Banned spells are banned spells. Rest assured, the Desiccating Hex should not be dark magic, by any reasonable measure._

Harry wasn't particularly satisfied with this explanation, but as Cecilia had put it, there wasn't much that they could do about it, even if it was stupid. She grumbled, and shut the book.

Five minutes later, Lupin dismissed the class. Harry stayed in her seat. He had a strange look on his face, as he paced back and forth in front of her.

"Where did you learn that spell?" he asked, voice on the edge of harshness.

"From a book," Harry said. "I don't remember which one."

"Is that so?" Lupin mused, hand on his chin. "And I know I covered the proper way to combat a Red Cap… which is interesting, because if you had been paying attention when I did so, you probably would have given me my solution."

Harry shrugged, staring intensely at one of the desks in front of her. If she was being honest, she hadn't paid very much attention to what he covered. She was much more interested in learning defensive magic against people, rather than creatures. It wasn't Red Caps or Grindylows that had murdered her parents, after all. So she'd probably not been listening - absorbed in whatever she was doing. She'd absorbed the important thing, which was that they needed to be aggressively dried, and then promptly went about writing more to Cecilia.

"So you're learning things from somewhere else," Lupin concluded, pacing back and forth.

Harry didn't know what to say to that. So, instead, she shrugged.

"But if this means that you learn things like the Desiccating Hex, and Legilimency, then perhaps independent study is not ideal." Harry drew in a sharp breath at the mention of Legilimency. He knew, then. "So, detention, with me, Thursday night, at 7."

"Yes, sir," Harry said.

"Good. Now get going. I'll see you then."

She fled.

* * *

Halloween came and went. Gryffindor flattened Hufflepuff, putting them in good position for the House Cup. Harry almost lost the snitch, for her first match yet, to the older, bigger, and much more sturdy Cedric Diggory, of Hufflepuff, amidst a horrible, windy, rainy, storm.

He was supposedly very handsome, but Harry couldn't see it. She was starting to wonder if there was something wrong with her.

The Halloween Feast came, too, and Harry was starting to wonder whether the first year's troll debacle was a fluke. Maybe Halloween at Hogwarts wasn't quite as cursed as she'd thought it was. The next Thursday, however, Harry had detention with the strange Professor Lupin. He'd been odd when he told her she was to report there, but his treatment of her in his classes was even odder - he didn't even mind if she buried herself in her book the whole time.

The sight of his office was a familiar one. Privately, she hoped that this wouldn't become a habit. If giving her detention was his misguided attempt at being there for her after abandoning her to the tender mercies of the Dursleys, she wanted none of it.

But instead of long, obnoxious rants about what she did wrong, or new places and things to scrub, Lupin was waiting there, wand held loosely in his hand, a small smirk on his face.

"I suppose you're wondering what we're doing today," he said, springing up.

"Sure."

"Most of the time, studying ahead alone can lead to disastrous consequences, particularly when it comes to Defense Against the Dark Arts. So, I'm prepared to offer you lessons, at this time every week, to… direct your studies, rather than leaving you to find things out for yourself."

"What's wrong with what I'm doing now?" Harry asked. "I mean, I think I've done pretty well for myself." Of course, part of that probably was Cecilia, but no reason to reveal that particular bit to Lupin.

"I think that the fact that you've already come across dark magic as a third year is evidence enough," Lupin replied, stern. "This stuff is dangerous. It's not just something that you can go playing around with."

"I'm not playing," Harry hissed, fists clenched. She was happy to realize that her hands were only barely trembling. "But Voldemort isn't dead. I can't _afford_ to not try to learn better magic."

"I suppose you aren't a normal student," Lupin conceded, holding out his hands, palms up.

"I met her, once already," Harry admitted. "And there was very little I could do."

His eyes went even more hooded, and his face looked even older.

"Then all the more reason to believe that yes, this is the right decision," he said. "Let us begin. I will begin with a short duel, to test your abilities."

He hopped off the desk, and shot a quick Stunning Spell at her. She smirked, and blocked it with a quick flip of her wrist, the spell reflecting off a pane of yellow light, in time with her motion. It wasn't quite the easy batting spells away with a wand, just a small, reflective dueling shield.

Still, Lupin twirled his wand in a complicated maneuver, and a storm of small blue pinpricks cascaded towards Harry. She didn't hesitate -

"Protego!" The pearly sheen of that particular brand of Shield Charm popped into existence. Lupin's spell bounced off, spinning in every direction.

Lupin wasn't done yet, though - he fired a strange cylindrical spell with a complicated-looking movement. Harry didn't recognize it, so she dropped the spell and hopped to the side, neatly avoiding the curse.

She was still ready, but Lupin relented, lowering his wand.

"Very good," he said, calmly. "Harry, that was very impressive. I don't think any of my fifth years could have given a better performance."

Harry ducked her head. It wasn't really her - it was Cecilia's direction, and skill, and strategy, and just her reflexes. Even the Legilimency that she used half the time wasn't even really hers.

Though, she'd stopped herself from looking into his mind, lately. There was something strange and feral and it did not want her in his mind, in the slightest. It was odd. Maybe she'd ask Cecilia sometime.

But Lupin was talking again, "Now, I want you to demonstrate some spells for me. Just - normal, usual spells you use or have used in confrontations."

Harry smiled, despite herself. This wasn't as bad as she'd thought.

* * *

"Hey, Harry," Ron said. "C'mon, let's go see McGonagall." Everyone else was packing up after Transfiguration, He grabbed her arm, and dragged her up to the front of the classroom.

McGonagall was standing up behind her desk, sorting around her papers. Ron leaned over and nudged Harry, gesturing furiously for her to say something.

"Professor?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Miss Potter?" McGonagall replied, straightening and glancing over them with narrowed eyes, over the top of her spectacles.

"I er - I was wondering…" Harry didn't really want to be here, asking this, but Ron was insistent. "My family forgot to sign my slip for Hogsmeade. Is there any-" she cleared her throat. It wasn't worth asking - she could tell already in McGonagall's mind that the answer was no.

"Miss Potter," McGonagall said. From even that, Harry knew just what the answer was. "I understand your… unique situation." She was right. This was a horrible idea. She desperately tried to flee, but her legs weren't obeying her. "However, there is nothing I can do. The Dursleys are your legal guardians, and they have ultimate authority over Hogsmeade visits."

"But professor-" Ron tried, but McGonagall spoke over him.

"Mister Weasley, while I must admire your loyalty, this is not something I will budge on," she said, thoughts firm and unyielding. "It's for the best, considering that Sirius Black is still out there. Even if he was last seen in Algiers."

"But that's ages away," Ron muttered. Harry agreed, but she didn't say anything.

"For a sufficiently skilled wizard, it's one Apparition. I think that though the Dementors were beastly, thinking that Black poses no danger now is just as foolish of our Minister." She frowned. "Speaking of foolishness, you both have Charms to get to," she added, meaningfully.

Ron opened his mouth to protest more, but Harry grabbed his arm and wrenched him. She wasn't really able to drag him, but he was so used to either her or Hermione dragging him along that he went willingly.

Out in the hall, she turned on him. "She wasn't ever going to say yes, you know. McGonagall would never bend the rules for me. It's just not how she works."

Ron shrugged it off. "It's worth trying. I still think it's ridiculous that you don't get to go to Hogsmeade, just because your aunt and uncle are horrible." His righteous indignation was, frankly, more charming than she'd expected.

Harry flinched, at the mention of the Dursleys. She hadn't ever really discussed them with Ron, not like that, but he seemed to know all the same that they were awful to her.

She collected herself. "What can I do, really? Unless you happen to know a secret passage into Hogsmeade, we're out of luck. I don't even think we can sneak out with the Invisibility Cloak, honestly."

Ron just shrugged. "I'll be sure to bring you something nice from Honeydukes, then." He was already thinking of how much she liked chocolate frogs.

Harry nodded. "That'd be nice. Don't sweat it too much, Ron. The Dursleys won't be my guardians forever, trust me."

"I just don't understand how you're just taking this lying down, Harry. It's not really your style." He dropped his voice, looking around furtively. "We both know that no one's out there to get you."

She shrugged. "But they don't. But the Dursleys would love nothing more than the thought of me sitting here, angry and spiteful towards them for screwing me over again, on another fun thing to do at school. I don't want to give them the satisfaction."

"Huh," he said. "Very zen."

"Mostly, it just wouldn't help me any to get angry."

"Good point. To Charms?"

"To Charms."

* * *

It was only later, that Harry worked up the courage to tell Cecilia that Lupin wanted to give her lessons. They were in the Room, casually, and Harry was sitting, doing work, while Cecilia absentmindedly thumbed through a pile of books. Harry was still a bit fried, from Cecilia testing her Occlumency.

"The Defense instructor, Lupin? He wants to teach me defensive magic."

"Is that so?" Cecilia asked, her tone quiet. "And what did you say?"

Harry looked up at her. Her gaze was quiet, intense.

"I told him that I would. It's better than detention, at any rate."

Cecilia frowned. "I'm not sure that it's a good idea, Harriet."

"It's not?" Harry asked. "After all, you won't necessarily know if a spell is illegal or not, will you?"

"Are you implying something?"

"I just don't see how it's not a good idea," Harry said, backing off.

Cecilia folded her book. "How much do you know about this Lupin?"

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"I mean that this man has made an enormous time commitment, on top of the already significant demands on his time that being a Hogwarts professor entails. This is not something that he would do lightly. Thus, he must have some motive for doing so. Can you imagine one?"

Harry shrugged. "I'm a good student, I guess."

Cecilia scoffed. "No offense, but the odds of you being _that_ good of a student are very slim. Try again."

Harry couldn't help but shoot her a dirty look. "What else do you want? I don't know why he suddenly decided I was interesting."

Cold, thin fingers wound around themselves, like stitches in a wound. "If you don't know why he'd do something like that, maybe it's better if you don't attend those lessons."

"I'm going, whether you like it or not." The words tumbled out, before she could stop them.

Cecilia's face flashed, furious, burning anger visible for a second, before she controlled her expression. "Can you honestly tell me that there is nothing strange about him?"

She couldn't, but she didn't want to admit that now. She thought of the strange thing that happened every time she looked behind his eyes, of the fact that he knew her father but hadn't seen fit to show himself, of the strangely paternal interest he'd taken in the spat between her and Malfoy.

"Yes."

Cecilia smiled, a predator's smile. " _Liar_." Harry bristled, but before she could say anything, Cecilia was in her mind, rooting everything out, about Lupin and Sirius. Her memories, replayed on loop. Like she was submerged, swimming against the tide, and struggling against the current, to no avail. A long moment passed, until Harry could do nothing but stare at the thick, coarse textbook that she'd slumped onto.

Pulling her head back up felt like lifting a boulder. "What the hell?"

Cecilia looked - the expression wasn't quite guilt - instead, it was this strange, half-wary defiance.

"I needed to know," she said. "You can't trust him."

"Clearly, he's not the only one," Harry remarked dryly. Her head felt like Cecilia had taken a hammer and done her level best to split it in two. In some ways, perhaps she had.

"Can't you see? You might not have the experience to know why you can't see into his mind, but I do. Wouldn't you like to know?"

Harry wanted to storm out, but last time she did that, she regretted it. She would probably have told Cecilia eventually anyway, but it was the principle of the thing.

"Not until you promise me that you won't do that again," Harry said, vehement. "This isn't okay, Cecilia. I know that you probably read my mind all the time last year, but you just can't do it now. It's important to me."

Cecilia inclined her head. "I understand. I will not tear anything from your mind against your will again."

"Good," Harry said. "And I will take his lessons. There's nothing you can do to stop me."

"As you wish," Cecilia replied. If she was upset by this, she didn't show it.


	12. Tongues

The date of the next Hogsmeade weekend rolled around, and Harry was stuck, saying goodbye to Ron and Hermione, as they stepped out of the castle for a new adventure, to Hogsmeade. She stalked away, intent on heading back to the Room. Cecilia had promised her an entertaining afternoon, to take her mind off what she was missing out on.

She was just rounding the corner on the third floor when she heard a hissed, "Psst!"

She glanced around. "Potter!" George - or was it Fred - Weasley was whisper-shouting from behind a tapestry.

She took a guess. "George?" she asked.

"Close, but no cigar," he replied, smiling. Harry was getting better at sensing other people's minds, but someone clever could still get the drop on her, and she had to be able to see them. "Come on. We want to show you something."

It wasn't a trap - instead, it was looking rather promising - a pranking tool, or something to do with secret passages? Either way, she was intrigued.

Harry nodded, intrigued, and followed him through a number of secret passages, all the way to the other side of the castle - a trapdoor hidden beneath a rug, an invisible set of stairs, and a suit of armor that only opened a passageway when tickled. Harry grinned to herself. The Weasley twins clearly had something of a sixth sense for finding places like this.

He eventually led her into a room, sequestered near the front of the castle, where George waited, with an old, well-worn piece of parchment rested on the desk.

"So what's all this, then?" Harry asked, glancing at the piece of parchment.

"This," Fred said, sweeping his hand over it, "is the secret to our success."

"The one, the only," George added. Their amusement was sharp, prickling over Harry like needles.

"What?" Harry asked. "You're having me on, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Fred said, smiling. This was far more than just a piece of parchment. "It would be good, wouldn't it? But no. This is serious business."

"Well, you've never revealed your secrets like this before. What gives? I mean, we're friendly, but I'm just your brother's mate."

"Well, ickle Harrykins, there's a bit of a story here. In front of you is one of the heirlooms of Hogwarts pranksters, from the previous generation. A treasured artifact, from ages gone by, a reliquary of rule breaking, the grail of nighttime wanderings-"

"Alright," Harry cut in. "I get the picture already."

"You laugh, but there is far more to this innocuous slip of paper than you can imagine," George warned.

"I'm sure."

"Right!" Fred said, whipping out his wand and tapping the parchment. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."

Ink swirled out from the tip of his wand, flowing into thick lines, illustrating - a map, of the castle. At the top, words spun into being, reminding Harry briefly of Cecilia's diary. _Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs are proud to present The Marauder's Map_ , it read.

And, most importantly, little dots, labelled with names, showing the exact positions of everyone in the castle, even the three of them.

"This is awesome," Harry told them.

They grinned, identical smiling grins. "We thought so too," they chimed, together.

"But - I mean, do you want Galleons? This is… this is worth something."

Fred's grin turned a little bit sour. "We don't want your money, ickle Harrykins. We just want to pass something on to the younger generation."

"And that's me, and not Ron?" Harry asked.

George pursed his lips. "It isn't Ron, no. We like you more than him."

It was a joke, but it was also - well, Ron could go to Hogsmeade. They weren't about to say that, but it was enough to tip the scales. Harry sort of needed it more. Well, they theoretically could've just shown Harry one of the secret passages, but this was, admittedly, better. Gift horses in the mouth, and all.

"Brutal," Harry commented, laughing.

Fred nodded, sagely. "And you'd use it more, let's be honest."

"Many things, our dear brother is, but creative? Clever? Someone who doesn't get caught?" George asked.

"No," Fred answered for him.

Harry nodded, still dumbfounded at the entire idea of a magical map that told the locations of everywhere in the castle at once, at all times. The possibilities were enormous - it maybe wasn't quite as useful as an invisibility cloak, but it definitely gave the cloak a run for its money.

Curious, she searched for people she knew. Snape was lurking around the dungeons, and Dumbledore was pacing a tower up on the seventh floor.

"I'll share it with him anyway," Harry told them.

"Good," Fred agreed.

"Maybe if you go now, you can catch up with him."

"You mean…"

George pointed out. "Near as we can tell, these seven go out to Hogsmeade. These are blocked off, and this one's beneath the whomping willow. So your best bet is this one, through the one-eyed witch's rump at the end of this passage."

"Right, right," Harry said. "So, boys, if you don't mind, I'll be off."

"As you say," George agreed.

"Now, now, Harrykins, don't do anything we wouldn't do!"

"That leaves quite a bit open then, doesn't it?" Harry asked, grabbing the map and scampering.

* * *

"Harry," Hermione said, handling her essay. "I can't read this."

"What?" Harry asked, looking up. The common room was half-full, tonight, with a bunch of older years drinking from some smuggled firewhiskey.

"This essay. It's not - this isn't English, Harry."

"What?" Harry repeated dumbly. Ron looked up, confused.

"Did you do your homework in Runes, Harry?" he asked.

"No, this isn't… these aren't runes."

Harry looked at it, staring. Her head ached, from the strange characters. She could understand them.

"Is it… _parseltongue_?" Ron asked, in a whisper.

"No," Hermione cut them off. "I looked it up, after you told us you knew it. Parseltongue has no written component. This is… this looks like a language."

Hermione spent almost entirely too much time reading trivia, Harry thought. She did some reading, definitely - Cecilia directed her through most of it. But Hermione clearly devoured books whole, for fun, on whatever she could find.

"It's… I don't know, actually," Harry admitted. "But I can read it?"

"How?" Hermione demanded. Harry wasn't sure she wanted to know what she was thinking.

"I don't know," Harry said, the pain in her head spiking. "I didn't even know I knew. I didn't even know I wasn't writing in English until you pointed it out."

"Hold on," Hermione said, frowning. Her mind skipped through books she'd read, recently, almost too fast to track. "I was doing a bit of light reading and… hmm…" She rummaged around in her bag, and withdrew an enormous book. _Runic Practices of East Asia_ , it read. "Here!" she shouted, triumphantly, holding Harry's homework next to the book. "Doesn't that look similar?"

"Blimey," Ron said. "Looks similar enough."

"Here," Hermione pushed the book towards Harry. "Try and read this."

She looked over the book - a long string of letters were there that suddenly made sense. It wasn't really like Parseltounge at all. When she spoke with snakes, it just sounded like English. This didn't. This was distinctly something else.

"I can," Harry said. "I mean, it's translated in the book, so there's no point in telling you what it means."

"Good," Hermione replied, decisively. "It's Korean."

"Hangul?" Harry asked, confused about where she'd gotten that word.

"Hangul? The language people speak in Korea?"

"It's the writing system," Harry explained.

"Is that like, a Muggle country?" Ron asked.

Hermione just rolled her eyes. "Yes, it is. It's part of the Empire of the Rising Sun in the Wizarding World, but in the Muggle one, it's two countries, actually. North and South. The distinction is interesting - the writing system was created, artificially, by their king. So I've been reading about it for Runes, because it's absolutely fascinating."

"Weird." Ron was frowning, staring at the parchment. "But Harry - think about it. You know Parseltongue too, right?"

"But this language - this isn't _magical_ ," Hermione stressed. "Look, I thought about it - Harry, what if you got your ability to speak to snakes from _You-Know-Who_?"

Ron burst out laughing. "What, are you thinking that Harry can speak Korean because You-Know-Who can? That's a bit of a stretch, innit?"

"I mean, how do we know Voldemort can even speak Korean?" Harry asked. Then she considered it. "I mean, is she British? Does anyone know?"

"She's definitely a Brit, mate," Ron put in. "Cos she's a pureblood, right? Death Eaters wouldn't follow her unless she's got the pedigree, innit."

"But her name is French, I thought," Harry said.

"Is it?" Ron asked.

"Well, yes, you can translate it, but I thought it was a family name, like Malfoy," Hermione muttered.

"What does Malfoy mean?" Ron asked, perking up.

"Bad faith," she said. "Don't laugh, Ron! But names like Granger or Potter are old words in English, but that doesn't mean that Harry makes pottery."

"Right, right, that's still hilarious. So you think V-Voldy's an old family name?" Ron was contemplative. "I mean, I've never heard of anyone like that. Sure, the Malfoys and the Lestranges have names that are french, but we know most of the major wizarding families. So why not use that name, if she had it?"

"You think it's because she can't use an established wizarding name?" Harry suggested. "That's pretty interesting."

"It's possible," Hermione said. "Maybe she's illegitimate, or something, and she doesn't want anyone to know. But we're getting distracted." She turned, primly, to Harry, her thoughts about Harry's irresponsibility as clear as if she was holding up a sign. "This is really concerning, you know, if you're learning these languages that you didn't know that you spoke."

"Well, I've always been able to speak to snakes," Harry told them. "I just thought it was weird accidental magic until this summer."

"But the Korean is new?"

"I think so," Harry said. "At least, this is the first time I've seen it. Magic's kind of wild, huh?"

"I think it's more accurate to say that your life is wild, mate," Ron put in. That was one of the nice things about Ron. He had very uncomplicated thoughts. "You've got no idea, huh?"

"No," she agreed. She didn't even know anyone who was Korean. And she hadn't had any recent changes to her brain. She had done that ritual, back in the summer, but Cecilia wasn't Korean either.

She opened her journal.

_Do you know Korean?_

_What a strange question. And,_ Cecilia wrote something else, but crossed it out. _I_ , another pause, _do not believe so._

 _That's okay,_ Harry replied. _It's just that I found out today that I was writing in Korean._

_That is somewhat alarming. Have you participated in any rituals to give you unknown powers?_

Harry frowned at that. _Excluding the one I did this past summer? I have not._

_I can't recall learning that language. You say that you were writing in it without realizing?_

_Yes. I thought I was writing English, and when I gave my notes, Hermione couldn't read them._

Cecilia's response took a second to come in. _That is concerning._

 _You don't know what's causing it?_ Harry asked. Cecilia had never before not known something.

_I do not. Do you know anyone who is Korean?  
_

Harry pondered this. _No? I mean, I might, but I don't know for sure that I know anyone, if that makes sense._

_I suppose it does. This leaves us without likely suspects. However, we are not working from nowhere. You have knowledge of this language. Clearly, this knowledge didn't come from nowhere. Thus, someone must have this knowledge in order for you to gain it from them. Thus, it is exceedingly likely that the person who did this to you knows Korean._

_Seems straightforward,_ Harry replied.

Hermione reached forward and snapped the journal closed, right in front of her. "Harry, don't disappear into that thing. This is important." Hermione's eyes bored into her. Harry could read her annoyance, clear as day, with Legilimency. Hermione really had a lot of emotions, didn't she?

"I know," Harry said, "but do we even know anyone that speaks Korean? It had to come from somewhere. Malfoy can't exactly curse me with something he can't know, after all."

"But how do you know that it was a person who did this to you?" she asked.

"I mean, it's not much of a curse, is it?" Ron put in. "Most people would find it pretty useful to learn a whole new language."

"But we don't know if anything else might have happened! What if it's malicious?"

"It hasn't been yet!" Ron said. "We don't know that it's necessarily going to be a bad thing!"

"But who would bother?" Hermione shot back. "Who would bother going around enchanting something to teach people languages without their consent?"

"Maybe someone is like, super enthusiastic about Korean?"

"Who?"

"No clue," Harry admitted. "I don't even know anyone that speaks Korean."

"That's a dead end, then," Hermione muttered.

"What about that rose you lent my sister?" Ron asked.

"That was just old Black family junk," Harry protested.

"But you just have Sirius' word on what they do, and let's face it, he's not the most stable guy around, is he?"

"But the Black family is real fancy pureblood, right?" Harry asked. "Why would they care about some language on the other side of the world?"

"Who knows? But unless you can think of other dangerous magical artifacts you've come across, we should investigate the ones we know. Right, so what artifacts do you have from Sirius' birthday present?"

"The rose, the ring, the boots," Harry listed. "But I've not really used the ring much."

"Hey," Ron put in. "Do you know any other languages? Maybe you've got a ton of them, rattling around in there, and we're just seeing Korean?"

"Why Korean, then?"

"Dunno." Ron shrugged.

"Right. Do you know any other languages, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"I don't think so," Harry answered. "But I'd have told you an hour ago that I didn't know how to speak Korean. Do you have any more helpful books that I can try to read? Maybe I know a bunch of languages?"

"Then why write your notes in Korean, of all things?" Hermione asked. "It's not exactly common, is it?"

"Dunno," Ron said.

"There's got to be a clue somewhere!" Hermione declared. "Alright. Here's what we'll do. Harry, give us those artifacts, and we'll each try out one. Ron can have the ring, I'll have the rose, and…"

"The shoes are probably not going to be teaching me any languages," Harry supplied. She could read Ron's amusement at that flick through his mind, like a firework going off.

"You could ask Ginny," Ron offered.

"That's not a bad idea."

"She's not here, though."

"We'll find her," Hermione said, promptly. "Now, here, Harry. Can you read this?"

Harry glanced over. More strange symbols that made a strange amount of sense. This was getting ridiculous.

"Yes," she told Hermione.

"Est-ce que tu parles français?" Hermione asked. _Do you speak French?_

"Oui," Harry replied without thinking.

"Blimey," Ron said.

"Right," Hermione said, half to herself. "There has to be a sensible explanation for all of this. People don't just learn languages automatically. You had to have done something! Think!"

"I have," Harry said, tightly. She avoided their minds, not wanting to know what they were thinking. It was not strictly true, but she trusted Cecilia's recollection - and her word. "Just let me write it down, maybe then I'll be able to do better."

"Why would writing help?" Hermione asked, sharply.

"My diary is enchanted for recall," Harry lied, through her teeth. "It's supposed to help me remember, so writing out a list of events that affected me magically will help."

"If you say so." Harry didn't need Legilimency to know that she was dubious at best about this. "Where'd you get it?"

"A second hand shop in Diagon Alley. I'll show you it next time we go. I think they had a bunch of them."

"I'll take you up on that," Hermione promised, primly.

Harry returned to the diary.

_Français?_

_Oui. There's something up, then. Languages. And a possible bleed-through from the Legilimency ritual. But Korean doesn't add up. I'll need to think. And we'll need to run through languages I know, to see any other overlapping ones that you know and I don't._

_Yes,_ Harry wrote. Cecilia always had a plan. It was reassuring to see.

* * *

Lupin was waiting, in his classroom, as she stepped in. He looked worn, and tired, today, his scars standing out in pale relief. He had moved all the desks in the room to one side, a loose space in the middle.

"Come in, Harriet."

She did so, softly stepping up to the middle of the room. "Hullo, Professor." She glanced around.

He smiled, looking vaguely pained, as usual. "How has your week been?"

She shrugged. He was awkward - almost as awkward as Sirius, but… well, a teacher, instead of her godfather. She didn't really have the same reason to put up with it.

"Alright," she said, slowly. It was sort of funny - she was, well, frankly a lot better at school these days. Cecilia was almost entirely responsible. A lot of the time she spent in class was sort of wasted - she'd spent a lot of her time learning stuff from Cecilia, and, well, she was an excellent teacher.

And that was the thing - Cecilia might not have been all that much better than Lupin or Flitwick or the rest, but personalized attention was worth its weight in gold. It was sort of more like she had a tutor, than a teacher. An apprenticeship, or, something like it.

It pertained mostly to Defense and Charms, although Cecilia did teach her a little bit of Transfiguration to go along with it. Herbology, Potions, and Astronomy weren't quite on the same priority.

And here, there was something a little bit…

Well, she was hoping Lupin had something good, because he had a fraction of the time that Cecilia had to teach her.

"Good, good," he said. "I assume that, well, you have enough practice learning curses. But I imagine actually simulating combat is new, for you. So, I thought we could start by measuring your abilities."

"Okay," Harry agreed.

He nodded. "So, begin when you're ready."

She glanced over at him, curious. Cecilia always started their little duels.

And, well, the pool of water behind his eyes wasn't really a pool of water as much as a storm of furious, many-limbed anger. So one of her biggest advantages in a duel was useless.

She raised her wand. She wanted to try a relatively new trick, one that Ceclia had just started teaching her. A way to cast, well, rapid-fire duplicate charms, in succession. So, instead of just one Cutting Charm or Bludgeoner, more than one, all in a cluster. Much harder to block, as it was. Eventually, it wouldn't be just one or two, it would be dozens, and then triple digits, and then it would be something to truly worry about.

But for now, she cast two identical spells, ones that tossed themselves up from nowhere - a quick loop and a twist, downward, with a slash, to the left, and -

" _Deonjida_."

A pulse of blue, and Lupin paused, for a half-second, before he dove out of the way. He paused, staring, wand held loosely.

"What was that spell? Where did you learn it?"

She frowned. "Somewhere."

"I've never heard of anything like it," Lupin admitted. He lowered his wand.

"Ah," Harry said. "Oh." Then she thought about it. " _Oh_."

"Yes?"

Her secrets were getting annoying. She didn't want to admit that she could randomly speak Korean, since, particularly, since that spell had come from the same thing. Which, if she thought about it, was very important for this sort of thing.

Shit. She folded her arms.

"Well," she explained. "It's Korean."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. Korean is, well, did you know that the written form was invented?"

Lupin's eyes were wide.

"Well, see, in that region of the world, most people, magical and no, used the Chinese alphabet. But Korea didn't like that, so they did something about it. It's not that similar to Mandarin, so it makes sense - the muggle Emperor designed it in the 15th century, by hand. It took a while to sink in, of course, because the rich opposed the poor becoming literate, as all rich people are wont to do. So, well, the magical side adapted that, since the Imperials still ruled there. So, actually, using Hangul to create spells is actually very simple, arithmancy-wise, since it's designed to be easy to learn, and use. As languages go, it's remarkable..."

"I didn't know any of that, Harry," Lupin said, mildly.

"It's interesting." And it was - she wouldn't have looked into it, but she was considering doing a project for Runes on it now. It was much easier to start with that, if nothing else. "But anyway, most spells have multiple casting motions, that affect the properties, based on spelling. I used this motion," she demonstrated it, "so my spell was arrow-shaped. More force for less speed."

"Ah." He rubbed his head, awkwardly. "Well, I have to apologize. Here I offered to teach you, and well, you're teaching me."

"You wanted to see where I was," she pointed out, shrugging. "If you'd, er, like me to go…?"

"No, no," he protested, holding up a hand. "I was just curious."

"It's not something I think most people know much about," Harry said. "Well, at least, not here. I imagine they know all about it in Korea."

He snorted at that. "Right, right. Okay. Let's try again?"

"Okay," she agreed, and raised her wand. Maybe she'd just stick to curses that Lupin would recognize, this time.

* * *

In the Room, Cecilia was poking at Harry, magically. A staticy bit of magic, like a live current through a socket, ran over her.

"And you said that you knew spells?"

"Yeah," Harry admitted. "I mean, unless you've taught me them."

"No," she murmured. "So, instead, maybe we should list all the things you do know, that you're not supposed to."

"Uh, so far, it seems like, uh, foreign languages and foreign spells," Harry said.

Cecilia drew back, eyeing her. "Hmm." She stroked her mouth, one thin, elegant hand pausing on pink lips. "I hadn't considered that."

"What?"

"Well, I had been assuming that most of the languages that you could speak came from me, as a sort of bleed-over from the very effective sympathetic blood ritual we did," Cecilia explained. "And that Korean was an outlier. But, if we flip that around, and assume that you learned nothing from the ritual but what we intended to give you, things become rather more complicated - and possibly easier to understand."

"I don't follow. At all," Harry admitted.

Cecilia poked her, with her wand, rather aggressively, this time. "It's not that hard. Of course, I'm just guessing, so you probably have as much idea as me. But frankly, there are a collection of languages that anyone traveling in magical Europe and Asia ought to know. French, Demotic, Farsi, Japanese, the like. Although, India, linguistically, is… not so simple. There are dozens of languages there. And Sanskrit is a language commonly used for glyphs, like hieroglyphs and Futhark." She paced back and forth, adopting a lecturing tone. "But I digress. So if you're learning languages from me, then it makes sense that you'd know what I'd consider a good selection of languages in the magical world.

"But if you're not, then it stands to reason that whoever you're inheriting these languages from had a similar experience to me - although Korean is generally, an outlier, much like English would be. And Parseltongue, but that's a magical language. As in, it can't be learned. You're born with it, or you're not. Anyway, if we're thinking of a person that knows this collection of languages, it's… distinct, in terms of what they know and don't."

"Okay," Harry said, only sort of following. She took the opportunity to sit down, while she could. "I was mostly annoyed that I learned a whole bunch of new languages and only one was applicable to Ancient Runes. I mean, I want to do a project in Korean, but apparently Babbling doesn't know it, so she would struggle to grade it."

"Yes, well," Cecilia grimaced. "Runic languages seem to be more a function of where someone learns, than anything else. All this means is that our mystery person didn't go to Hogwarts. But it's good - we can identify this combination much easier. We just need to find someone that speaks Korean."

"Oh. Why didn't you say that already?"

"Because," Cecilia said, folding her arms. "I'm supposed to be teaching you. While this isn't necessarily something I'd expect you to solve on your own, doing the whole thing for you means you won't learn anything."

"I could have told you Korean was weird," Harry pointed out, rolling her eyes. "I wasn't exactly writing notes in Farsi, was I? And - well," she said, frowning. "Spells are like, muscle memory, too, not just knowledge."

"Pronunciation is muscle memory, too, don't forget." Cecilia paused, and rubbed a finger along her chin. "And yet, there is no obvious trigger for its manifestation. There is the ritual this summer, but why did it take so long to manifest?"

"Maybe it was just… you did say that I might get more of your abilities, didn't you?"

"Yes, but this isn't my ability. Neither me nor the original Cecilia learned any Korean. I'm certain of that. Which means…" She frowned. "Considering the ritual we did - it's not something that should happen. If it was, well, some rituals are designed to appeal to a higher power - Magic, itself, if you believe in that. Conceivably, it would be possible. Magic can do unusual things, after all, whether you think it has feelings or not. This wasn't one of them. This was designed to create a sympathetic link between two things - my diary, and you."

"And you said you don't speak Korean," she supplied. "And I didn't speak anything, since I've never left Britain."

"Yes," she agreed. "Well, English, obviously, but I take your point. Which means - this is either not the ritual, in which case we need to be on our guard, or there's something more to the diary than we know."

Harry felt a pit, open in her stomach. "What do you mean? The diary is just you, right?"

For once, Cecilia's cheeks had a hint of red. "It's… possible… that there is something hidden to me. It's the only thing I can think of. I've meditated on it, but there's very little I can do. I've had many years to come to terms with the makeup of my abilities, and I am relatively confident I know them comprehensively. If this is something else, it's entirely possible that it's been hidden from me."

"Oh," Harry said, slowly. She leaned forward. A part of her wanted to extend a hand, but she didn't want Cecilia to take it badly. "You did say, before we did that ritual, that there was a possibility of unknown effects. Could it be that the languages and the spells and such are just… knowledge, filtering through from somewhere else?" She shrugged. "Maybe the other Cecilia has taken an enormous interest in Korea."

"Yes," Cecilia said, stiff and awkward. She leaned over the back of a chair, too agitated to rest. "It's possible, but unlikely. Whole languages - the knowledge and manipulation of spells - these are no simple things. I designed that ritual to avoid them - I didn't want to unduly influence you, limit you by giving you skills. I wanted to give you _talents_ \- abilities that would grow with time."

"So this is just… unusual?"

"Yes. As with all rituals, it is… possible, but unlikely, considering that it has done more or less the opposite of what I intended to happen. Hmm." She paused, rubbing her hands together. "Something comes to mind."

"Oh?"

Cecilia frowned. "The last time the real Cecilia - my creator - wrote in her diary, she was in Alexandria, 1958. I had always intended to go there to find her, and retrace her steps. I had imagined that she had simply lost me, or… something else." She glanced down. "But… maybe she didn't. For some reason, it's possible that she erased some of my memories."

Harry felt goosebumps prickle up her spine. "Erase your memories?"

"Yes," Cecilia admitted. "It's possible that the language that I don't know comes from a time that I don't remember."

"Why would Other Cecilia do that?" Harry asked. She couldn't imagine the motivation. It seemed very cruel.

"I don't know, Harriet." She glanced away. "There are… normally I'd say that she'd never do that, but I can't say that for sure, anymore."

Harry sighed. She wasn't really much of one for hugs, but she wanted to… do something. She leaned forward, and folded her hands, staring Cecilia in the face and conveying all of her sincerity.

"We'll figure it out, okay? I'll make Sirius take us to Alexandria, and we'll find out. I promise."

"She was planning to come back to Britain, eventually," Cecilia admitted. "She might be dead. I don't know. But the fact that you're inheriting a strange ability I don't know about? That's… something else. There's also the question of how I got back here, to be written in by you. It's unlikely that it was just luck, I'd think."

"She'd better have a good reason, for hurting you like that," Harry growled. "I don't care how old she is, I'll thrash her."

Cecilia chuckled. The surprise and warmth of it hit Harry. "I'm sure you will, little weed. But let's not worry about such things, no? I think if you wish to defeat my counterpart, you have much training to do."

She stepped forward, and poked Harry in the chest.

Cecilia's eyes were dry, and bright, with something hard in them. "Don't think I'll go easy on you. We have a lot of work to do."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Korean stuff is going somewhere cool, primarily feeding into this summer's subplot. I'm pretty excited for it.
> 
> You might have noticed a real gap in posting, but I was pretty violently opposed to anything in this fandom for a while because of Rowling's bigotry. She's awful for many reasons, don't get me wrong, but for me, there's a real difference between having problematic themes in your work and openly publishing hate speech and pretending you're oppressed for people attempting to stand up to you.
> 
> fuck terfs.


	13. Latin, or Something Like It

Ron and Hermione watched her nervously, through dinner, on the last night of term, after overhearing a number of professors and Minister Fudge, in the Three Broomsticks. But only when they retired back to the common room did Harry erupt.

"He's got no fucking clue what he's saying," Harry said, venomously. She'd only just managed to calm down.

"We know," Ron said. He really did - he trusted Harry and Sirius' version far more.

"He didn't even know that - Sirius would never betray them. He loved them," she explained. Her hands were trembling wildly. She couldn't help that, at all. She shoved them in her pockets. "And all that crap about his - his _motivations_ ," she spat, like it was something rancid. "He's clearly just talking shit."

"It's okay, Harry," Hermione said. "I think Fudge just, well, he's just trying to deal with it all." Again, with this stupid authority crap. Couldn't Hermione just let it go?

"He's just trying to cover his ass, Hermione. Everyone just feels like they have the right to my business. Because it's the Girl-Who-Lived, everyone just gets to say whatever they want, like my business is everyone's business!"

"He is the Minister." Hermione's tone was mild, but Harry didn't care.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?" Harry asked, venomously.

"Well, no, but it might mean-"

"It just means it's his fucking fault that Sirius had to break out to protect me anyway," Harry said. "Him and Dumbledore. I'm going to bed. Fucking Fudge needs to keep his mouth _shut_."

* * *

The holidays came, and went. The castle was mostly empty, although both Hermione and Ron stayed, for the break.

Harry almost wished they hadn't. She'd been wrapped up in her own stuff, dealing with Cecilia, but Hermione and Ron were… not getting on, very well. Ron's rat, Des, was unhappy with the cat, Crookshanks.

And, well, Harry wasn't sure how to mediate that argument. Not that she really thought it should be mediated. Crookshanks was a little bit _too_ interested in Des, and, well, he had been there first.

Hermione was a little bit callous about that sort of thing. And Ron was holding a bit of a grudge over it.

Harry didn't really want to be in the middle - so she spent time with Cecilia.

Christmas morning, the attitude in the dorms hadn't cooled. Harry felt, a little bit unkindly, that it might have been better if her friends had gone home for the holidays. They did have homes to go back to, after all.

And when Harry got a Firebolt - obvious, to her, that it was from Sirius - that seemed to be the icing on the cake.

It wasn't so much that it was a big argument - it was the initial impression. Harry and Sirius had talked about a Firebolt. Hermione hadn't been there for that conversation. Ron hadn't, either, but he was too distracted by the quality of the broom to consider it. Or he was just more trusting of Harry's lack of worry.

But she could see every thought of Hermione's - the girl thought so loud, sometimes. And all of them were about how irresponsible Harry was, and how foolish, and how little she trusted Sirius.

And Harry didn't necessarily react well. It was hard to keep her anger under control, in the common room.

"It's from Sirius. I'd trust him with my life."

"But Harry, you don't know him. You only know him from this summer! And you don't know it's from him! You think you do based on a conversation this summer, but that's it!"

Harry snarled, "Oh? So he didn't get me anything? He just forgot, did he?"

"But you don't know! And you could really get hurt on a broom like that!"

"Hermione," Harry warned, carefully, hands clenched and shaking despite them. She was very seriously fed up with Hermione's shit, sometimes. "Please don't test me on this."

Crookshanks hopped forward, and jumped at Ron's pocket.

"No! You dumb cat!"

Harry dove for Crookshanks, trying to save poor Des, but the cat was too quick. Hermione shrieked, and Ron yelled, and then there was a scuffle.

Crookshanks landed on Ron's chest, but Ron smacked him, and he gave a yowl, and darted off.

"Blimey, Hermione," Ron said. "You can't be serious. Des needs some time away from that horrid cat."

"He's a cat," Hermione replied, primly. "Cats hunt rats, Ron."

"Hermione, would it kill you to be sensitive for just five minutes?"

Hermione just snarled. Harry didn't want to look in her mind, for once. Best not to know, honestly.

* * *

Harry stretched out on the couch, relaxing. After the brutal dueling practice that Cecilia had just put her through, she needed the rest. Her whole body hurt.

"So, yeah, I don't really want to get in the middle of that, right now."

"I see," Cecilia said, from where she was gazing out into the sunset. "Drama. What fun."

"I just… I mean, Ron can be really thoughtless sometimes, but I kinda agree with him this time. Hermione isn't being very considerate," Harry said. "She makes excuses for Crookshanks, and he loves to chase Des. She just sort of bought Crookshanks without thinking of the consequences."

"And this frustrates you," Cecilia said, softly.

"Well, yeah. Ron has a rat. Which, I mean, I'm not saying that she can't buy a cat, because Ron has a rat," Harry said, shrugging. "It's more… well, it's like she has no consideration for Des. She didn't ask if it was okay to buy him, and she acts like he's blameless. Like Des matters less than Crookshanks. Which, I guess, to her, he might. But it's still rude, to disregard your friend's pet."

"I would advise you avoid taking sides," Cecilia said. "They are both your friends, no?"

"Of course not," Harry agreed. "But I'm not really neutral, am I? Particularly when I can read both their minds. And I know how dismissive Hermione is, in her head. It doesn't look like both sides are equal, from where I'm standing."

"Hmmm." Cecilia's mouth quirked, into a smile, and she tilted her head. "And thus, the talent for Legilimency comes into play. It's not always a good thing, isn't it?"

"No," Harry admitted. "I know so many things about so many people, you don't even know."

Cecilia laughed, coming forward to lean against the wall. "Oh I do. I had the same ability, you know. And I was - well, I was, for most of my time in school, apparently a muggleborn in Slytherin. I am a half-blood, but I never knew my parents. I had a muggle name, and thus, I was mud, to them." She bared her teeth. "As you might be able to imagine, they took that very poorly.

"And thus, I was forced to… correct them. And knowing their secrets was very useful," Cecilia said.

Harry paused. "You, uh. Sorry. I just don't know what you mean? You like, used their weaknesses?"

Cecilia tilted her head. "Most of them, I blackmailed. Some of them, I did use their weakness. And others, I exploited Legilimency to defeat them in duels."

"Oh," Harry said, curling up, knees underneath her chin. "So I should blackmail Malfoy?"

"Is he still bothering you?"

"He's been quiet. Ever since I threw mud at him, at Hogsmeade. But I think he's planning something."

Cecilia hummed. "I suppose that depends on what you intend to blackmail him with. He seems rather immune, to the lesson we've intended to impart. I'd think you'd need something of some kind of import, to get him to leave off."

"Yeah," Harry said. "But who knows? He always forgets, that I can kick his ass. And, well, I told Snape that I wouldn't use what I learned from Legilimency. Not that, well, I mean, I'm not saying I'd do that because I respect Snape, but Malfoy is the kind of person that would whinge to him, and he might put two and two together."

"Hmm," Cecilia said, again. "Something to think about. But we have to, well…" And then she met Harry's eye, and then -

And then she was back, submerged in the memory of Malfoy initially, on the train, and at Madam Malkin's, and all through their years. Watching, as Cecilia through them. Harry could have tried to resist, but it was easier and less painful to just watch. Harry really didn't mind Cecilia -

She paged through the memories, like quicksilver, like she was paging through a book, looking for the right chapter.

And then it was over.

Harry sighed. She was, admittedly, a little more sanguine about this sort of thing after months of time spent inside people's heads. It wasn't like Cecilia was going to do anything with the information - it was just easier than explaining.

"Quite frankly, I am not sure," Cecilia admitted. "He's genuinely impressive. No matter how many defeats, he seems quite unwilling to give up. It's almost admirable."

"So you're not sure of a way?"

"I think our best bet is Legilimecy," Cecilia said. "However, your Potions professor presents a complication - he may very well notice. And finding people to practice on can be… difficult. I'll have to consider how to handle it."

"I don't really want to give Snape an opportunity to hate me anymore," Harry admitted.

"I understand, Harry. I am sorry that I have no answers for you now. Unfortunately, I think the best way might be to find some Muggles in a place far from Hogwarts, and we can't exactly do that, right now. I worry that any manipulation might be noticed by Snape, so really, the most we can do is continue our practice."

"That's disappointing, but I get why," Harry said. "Will you be able to show me what to do, in only the diary? We won't have this room during the summer."

"I should," Cecilia said. "I am confident you could do it without my assistance. I am sorry, however. I am less than useful, at the moment. Between the strangeness of the languages, and the frustration of your friends and classmates…" She shrugged, indolently. "I feel rather useless."

"It's okay. You're teaching me. That's worth a whole lot to me. Besides, it's not about that," Harry said, quickly. "You're my friend."

Cecilia's lips twitched. "And you're mine. You don't need to thank me, however. I will teach you. It is my purpose."

"Do you like it?"

She rested against the wall, folding her hands in front of her. "It is… not unsatisfying. And you are far from the worst student I could have."

"Admit it," Harry said, smiling. "You like me!"

"If you must insist on such annoyingly Gryffindorish sentiments," Cecilia sniffed. "Then yes, we are friends, little weed."

Harry beamed.

* * *

Lupin raised his wand, and said, " _Flipendo_." The burst of light left his wand, but Harry wasn't worried. She had this down.

It wasn't about motion, as much as maintaining the focus around her wand. The trick wasn't overly complicated - it was more about concentration, keeping one's wand in the right position.

Harry flicked her wand - the spell bounced off, easily. She returned fire - just Expulso, an afterthought. It was, as Cecilia called it, a useful all-purpose spell, with a very simple movement. It was slightly wordy, to say, but Harry was working on casting it silently. It couldn't be deflected with Protego, only mitigated, and physical shields were equally ineffective. She wasn't putting very much into it - she didn't want to kill Lupin, at least.

He frowned, and threw himself out of the way. Harry followed up with a stunning spell, and a quick little three-shot burst of Petrificus Totalus, Diffindo, and Depulso. The first was silent, the second two quick enough to say.

Lupin shielded those, but he used Protego.

Hmm. She thought she'd broken him of that habit.

A complicated series of jabs, and she pronounced, " _Hwach'a_." A collection of metal-tipped arrows appeared, arrayed like a pachinko machine. A wave had them lit on fire, and then they shot out, like bursts from a cannon.

Lupin had time enough to drop the shield, and do… something with his wand. The arrows all deflected off the shield, crashing into the walls behind him, and exploding.

"Harry," he said, slowly. "Stop."

Harry lowered her wand.

"We've talked about this," he said, gently. "If you can't…"

Harry made a displeased face. "I could have healed it. And, sir, I'll say the same thing I said last time. This isn't a game, for me. I've come face-to-face with Voldemort before. It _will_ happen again. And she won't pull her punches."

"Regardless, there is the very real fact that the spells you're using are not - not the kind of magic that you should be using, in a school. That last one, Hwacha - that is a foreign spell, but the Ministry would almost certainly ban it if it wasn't from a country half a world away."

Harry said nothing, because there was nothing to say. Legal and illegal magic had been a point of contention between them for a while.

"If that is the case," Lupin said, slowly, "it might be best if we stopped our lessons, from now on."

"I understand, Professor," Harry said. "May I head to bed, then?"

He nodded, sadly.

She fled, not long after.

* * *

It was History. Harry still went to class, but it was mostly to talk to Cecilia without interruptions.

_I have a question._

_Yes, Harry?_

_Why are so many spells in Latin? I mean, it's not even actual Latin, now that I think about it._ Wingardium Leviosa _is… well, from what I can tell, it's nonsense. And I've learned spells in Greek, and some in Korean. If I think hard, I think I know some other languages._

 _And…_ she continued, frowning. _The runes thing. Well, glyphs. Why those languages? Sanskrit and Futhark and Old Egyptian. They aren't spoken anymore, but what makes them useful for Runes? Could I use English for Runes? Or Latin?_

The words appeared on the page, deliberate and well-formed, like Cecilia was lecturing. _It's not quite so simple as one reason. But the differences are mostly cultural. Wands - and therefore modern wizardry - came about during the Roman Empire. So, they used the dominant languages at the time. But the reason that it's become mangled is primarily drift. Latin is a dead language. No one speaks it any more._

 _But, when people make new spells - particularly in Europe and North America - they primarily use Latin, more out of tradition than everything else. And, being a dead language, people often make mistakes, because they don't speak it. So, while_ Wingardium Leviosa _isn't real Latin, it's made by someone who was trying to make it sound Latin-esque._

_Greek has survived the test of time better. That is, most of the Greek spells I've encountered are more accurate to the language. Of course, that doesn't mean they're accurate, since languages drift naturally. The English we speak isn't the same as the English spoken hundreds of years ago - even a hundred years ago, it was different._

_Korean - I can't speak to that. I simply don't know enough. I do know a fair amount of spells in other languages, but I know Europe tends to favor Latin, because of the influence of the Romans. I would imagine that Farsi or Mandarin get used in those regions. I know a fair few spells in Demotic, which was the language spoken in Egypt at the time that the wand was making its rounds._

Harry interrupted. _Why are wands so important?_

_Because, frankly, they are the magical equivalent of the invention of interchangeable parts, and therefore, the modern rifle. Before the wand, most people learned magic slowly, and spells were far less standardized. Mages would learn, mostly based on talents and who their teachers were. But once everyone had a strong focus, things could be made to match the lowest common denominator._

_Inventions like rifles and crossbows revolutionized warfare because they could be used with less skill than bows or swords. You don't have to train for years just to become skilled. Any idiot with a rifle can kill an expert. Skill gaps exist, of course, but a beginner with a sword needs to be fantastically lucky to triumph over an expert._

_But a wand - it's not the same, of course, because I am making an analogy, but it bridges that skill gap. That's why you learn magic from a professor, in a classroom, as a student. If wands did not exist, you would likely be learning as one of a handful of apprentices, from a master in their own home, as part of a close arrangement with your family. Does that answer your question?_

_Yes,_ Harry wrote. _Wands let us all use the same spells._

_Indeed. They are used around the world for that reason, even among places that weren't part of the Roman Empire. The other large historical invention that affected the magical world was actually muggle - the printing press. I'm sure you can imagine why._

_Yeah. I mean, it's sort of obvious. Spreading knowledge and all that._

_Quite. Back to your original question, I believe that the cultures that used runes were the most skilled in runic magic. The cultures that used their own languages, and it spread. Not unlike Latin, if you will allow the comparison. Yes, no one speaks Futhark, but it was the old Norse that discovered how to carve symbols into things, and imbue them with magic before our ancestors did._

_Well, maybe your ancestors learned it from the Indo-Aryan people who lived on the indian subcontinent in ancient times. It is another question of invention. Similarly, the ancient Egyptian civilization - their name for themselves is hard to pronounce and doesn't really exist in English - used their own language. They were particularly skilled magical users - I believe that the culture at the time was a reason that Egypt was a center of civilization for so long._

_It's honestly a little silly that we learn Futhark. I think learning Old Egyptian might be more useful, as it is more user-friendly for erecting permanent wards than Futhark._

_So, yes, you could use English for both, but you'd need to be_ very _skilled at spell-crafting to do so. You'd basically have to invent a whole new system from scratch. And English - modern English at least, is a hybrid language that comes about from a number of different influences. So I imagine it would be a particularly hard language to balance, arithmetically. You'd have to do a bunch of complicated mathematics, in order to do that._

_My theory is that Korean is the opposite - easy. As I understand it, the writing system was designed to be very easy to use. Perhaps that offers the unique status that makes it so simple._

_That makes sense,_ Harry wrote. _Maybe I should see if I can ward something in Korean._

 _Actually, now that I think about it - you demonstrated that spell, did you not?_ Deonjida. _And it has a number of wand movements that produce different effects, no?_

 _Yes,_ Harry said. _That's how it works. That's all I know, however._

_It's all we need. How do you cast a runic spell, Harry?_

_You, uh, have to concentrate and hold a bunch of runes in the air, drawing them out with your wand and keeping all the elements properly balanced, in your mind. You said it was like trying to juggle a bunch of differently-shaped objects._

_Yes. Another flawed analogy, but correct enough. I believe that_ Deonjida _is in fact a runic spell, just one that is arithmetically balanced as to allow for a number of different effects. Most of the spells we cast do only one thing - that's all the equation is balanced for. To put it another way,_ Deonjida _is an equation that has a number of different solutions. It's… elegant._

 _Oh,_ Harry wrote. _So I technically know runic casting!_

_Not really. Part of the reason that spell is so impressive is because it's nothing like the runic casting we know. It doesn't seem to be any different than non-runic spells, because it basically is one. The process of the wand movements might be slightly more complicated, and it might be impossible to point-cast, but it is essentially just a wanded spell. Be careful, though. Runic casting is restricted in Britain. I doubt anyone will notice, because it's from the other side of the world. Is Korea still a part of Japan's empire, on the magical side?_

_Korea was part of Japan?_

_Yes. It still was on the magical side, but not the muggle when Cecilia disappeared. I don't know about recently. It's not a big deal. I was just curious._

_Oh. I'm sad that it's not real runic casting, but I guess I'll live. Thanks for answering._

_Anytime, Harriet._

Reading those words made her lips twist into a smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that much to say, other than I think the next chapter should wrap up this year. Some elements of worldbuilding borrowed in part or wholesale, if I thought they made sense. The other thing too - I am definitely taking shots at JK's bad latin. That's intentional.


	14. Death

It went like that, for months - fractures between Ron and Hermione, lessons with Cecilia and Lupin, and slowly, getting something of a handle on her Legilimency. She wouldn't have said she was _ready_ , since she was - well, it was a little intimidating, messing with people's minds.

There was an odd juxtaposition, she thought. Most of what she'd been exposed to, growing up - both muggles and wizards seemed to agree that the sanctity of one's thoughts was sacrosanct. That touching - reading - another person's mind was a violation. Less so, around magical people, but that made more sense, with the mind-reading and all. But magical people also had a strange lack of some of the more individualistic morals that muggles did.

Cecilia said that was a function of the Statue of Secrecy. It had come about before the Enlightenment, which was, apparently, where a lot of those ideas had come from - personal property, freedoms, and stuff like that. Cecilia had explained it all - but basically, well, mages put a lot of things on family.

Ironically, Harry was the last of her family, so she was basically in charge of herself. But if her family had been alive, her father or grandfather would have had a lot of power over her, even as an adult, as a member of House Potter - until she got married, apparently.

Muggleborns disrupted that - they had ideas about life and liberty (ones that had come about from the aforementioned Enlightenment), and thus, society had been moving to accommodate them. It was… different, from what she'd grown up with.

The population was small - much smaller than non-magical Britain. And most of the money and power in society was concentrated in the purebloods - the old, powerful families, like the Potters and the Malfoys, the Longbottoms, the Boneses, and all the rest. She was technically magical nobility, even.

And she didn't even know - her time spent at Hogwarts had very little to do with that. The only thing was that, technically, it was impolite to call her Harriet, without an invitation or a personal connection.

So, really, everyone should have been calling her Potter - or, if they were being formal, _Lady Potter_ \- which was just weird, in so many ways. She was sort of glad no one did, even if it was technically rude.

But Cecilia said that it had been rather a big deal, back in the 1940s in Slytherin. Apparently, much of the current situation - Hogwarts looking rather a lot like an old-fashioned boarding school, and not a radically different political and cultural environment - was something that Dumbledore had deliberately engineered.

It was ultimately sort of… well, it wasn't that important, to her. Like, she was happy to know that her parents had left her a lot of money. But that was more security, and with Voldemort around, the long-term finances of her House was sort of… well, it didn't matter, as much. If she was alive by the end of school, maybe that was something to start worrying about.

Other than the social stuff, really - well, people had always been far too interested in the Girl-Who-Lived. Felt like they were owed some part of her. Like she belonged to them, somehow. Like they knew her just from hearing about her - the books about her supposed adventures were awful, too, now that she thought about it. She should have realized something was wrong just from the way she'd been mobbed at the Leaky Cauldron that first day in the wizarding world, with Hagrid.

Unfortunately, as the Girl-Who-Lived, waiting for things to work out by themselves wasn't going to work for her. She would have to figure that out herself. Cecilia had promised to help her figure that out - this summer, she was going to write something like a cease-and-desist to those people that wrote those awful books.

Term had ended - Harry was doing well, better than she was expecting. Turned out that, well, in terms of magic, knowledge really was power. To get better at fighting, she had to learn a whole bunch of necessary things.

There was, however, one spot of pain in the end of third year. Back in September, at the first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, a hippogriff had assaulted Malfoy. He'd made a big deal out of it, and apparently while Hagrid got to keep his job, the hippogriff in question, Buckbeak, was to be put down.

It came to a head, in June. Harry was walking back up from Hagrid's, with Hermione and Ron, having just said goodbye to him and his pet. Hagrid was distraught - beside himself. He sent them away. He didn't want them to see, he said. And Hermione said that she couldn't bear it, either, so they fled.

The walk up back to the castle was warm, and the setting sun cast lazy, yellow shadows over the grounds. They'd gone along the edge of the forest, towards the Quidditch pitch, in order to avoid anyone walking down the normal route, from the castle.

They walked quietly for a few moments, wrapped up.

"I still can't believe they did it," Hermione said. Her thoughts were burning, bright with the thought of how unjust it was.

Harry was still thinking about going back, but she could see it, in Hagrid's mind. He didn't want her there. He wanted to shield her from that - while noble, she knew rather a lot about what was happening. She'd been there, back when Fudge and Malfoy and Macnair had shown up. She'd seen their thoughts - well, Lucius Malfoy had decent Occlumency shields, enough that she couldn't exactly pierce them without him knowing - but she'd seen enough, from the other two.

It was horrible, that an animal had acted according to its nature, and was killed for it. She knew why - it was the victory against Hagrid that Malfoy the younger could get, and the victory against Dumbledore that Malfoy the elder could get, but it was still cruel and pointless. A power play.

They were just stepping into the back doors of the castle in the fading light of day when they were interrupted, by Lupin. He looked pained, thin and wan.

"I'd like to talk to Harry, if I might," he said. Another oddity - Lupin always called her Harry, even from the first day they'd met. It made her think a little less of him, but she assumed that this was just one of those things - an outdoor lesson.

"Sure," she agreed. Hermione and Ron thought it weird, but they knew about her lessons with him, even if they hadn't been having them recently. Again, not unusual.

She followed him out to the dark, feeling nervous.

"Professor?" she asked. "What is this about?"

"A small detour, Harry," he reassured, standing oddly stiff. Harry didn't think much of it. She followed, out of sight of the doors.

They walked - the light was gone now, and Harry absentmindedly lit her wand. She shone it at him, and he was standing, stiffly, oddly, wand held loosely.

"The truth is, well. Well." His voice was odd, low, and soft. "It's kind of funny, isn't it? You're far more like Lily than I ever expected. She was a prodigy, in her own way. If she hadn't been going against the Dark Lady… what she would have become."

"Professor?"

"To think, that you could call such a thing a draw. And, well, Lily wasn't much one for rules. I knew your parents, in school. And Sirius. They were my closest friends. And, well, like I said. It's ironic that we find ourselves here, isn't it?"

Harry raised her wand, hands trembling. Something about this felt odd. His mind was odd, too - now that she looked, it was rather more furious than usual. It was practically pouring out of him.

"What are you talking about?" she asked, sharply.

"You might not realize, but… it's easy, when you don't see exactly how your people are struggling. It's easy to sit back and think that legislation is the key to fixing the world, when everyone around you treats you well. But when it affects you, when you have to stare it in the face, every day…" He chuckled. "Well, it's different, then, isn't it?

"You have no idea how charismatic she is. How easy it is for her to convince them. They need it," he said. "Dumbledore's not enough." He let out a gusty sigh. "Dumbledore's not enough."

The wind kicked up, the trees rustled, and the moon came out from behind a cloud. The ground was bathed in moonlight. Shadows flickered.

Lupin was suddenly, oddly stiff. His arms trembled. His mind surged - peaking, in fury. Fury. The moon.

And when Snape took over for his class, he assigned them an essay on _werewolves_.

Harry reacted, instantly. Her wand was out and she Banished him away. Her hands were steady, suddenly.

A second later, and he was covered in fur, and up, bounding across the lawn, howling like a bat out of hell.

Another second, and he was very close.

" _Confrigo_ ," she whispered. He took the burst of magic on the metaphorical chin and kept on trucking. Fuck. She needed more.

" _Hwach'a._ " The Korean artillery spell flared. She spun her wand, and made a small cross, before flicking it.

Arrows ignited with bright flashes of electricity, before firing, _snick-snick_.

They hit, and buried themselves into flesh.

Not enough to stop a charging werewolf. Shit, Snape had made a point about silver, hadn't he?

Lupin hit her a second later. She barely had a second to think before she was tumbling through the air, and then - the ground shattered something in her arm, and then she was lying on the ground. She heaved herself up, on her good arm.

The werewolf was closer. The moon passed behind the clouds, and it was dark. Fuck.

She had no wand, and she could barely see him, but, for once, she could feel his mind. He was all animal instinct, but she could tell where he was, if nothing else.

And she could cast wandlessly. And, well, she'd never quite wanted it _this_ much.

She slammed him with a wall of force, and forced herself up. Wandless summoning, might have been beyond her, but she could - fuck - do something. The werewolf was up _again_ \- what the fuck was wrong with this thing?

And, well, it felt inevitable. It was going to bite her, and, well.

' _Oh?'_

Well, yeah. She didn't exactly have any more tricks. She flattened a plane of force, and sent that spinning, like a giant blade. It slicked across Lupin, cutting him up, but he wasn't nearly as daunted as she'd hoped.

' _We can't have that, can we? A werewolf, honestly…'_

Harry's brain stuttered. What was that voice? And the strange, slick pressure on her thoughts, like someone was reading her. But she couldn't feel anyone. It was odd - like dipping her hands in oil.

' _Cecilia really needs to teach her students better. You need silver. Obviously. Just stab him. It's not_ hard _.'_

Wait… this wasn't Cecilia. Cecilia wasn't ever quite like this, even when she was upset with Harry. And the language - the voice was muttering at the back of her mind, in, of all things, Korean.

_Are you the one that taught me to speak like this?_

' _Obviously. Though, taught isn't the right word. You inherited it from me. Among other things.'_

Harry was very confused. The ritual was supposed to avoid inheritance, or at least the kind of stuff she'd gotten.

' _Ahh, but Cecilia doesn't really understand what she is now. And neither, I think, do you.'_

Like that statement wasn't ominous as hell. What even _was_ the Diary?

The world titled, and suddenly, she could see perfectly well in the dark. Even sitting, where she was. The werewolf was too close - her body thrust itself up, moving with unnatural speed, her wand flicked, and suddenly, an unseen hand reared up, smashing the werewolf away, somehow, like batting a fly - and then the world was darkness again, like she was suddenly in a dark, cold cave - and then she was somewhere else, crouching on the lawn of the school, twenty meters away.

Harry would have gasped, if her mouth still worked.

_What do you mean? What's going on?_

' _Oh, to be young again. Little hearthkeeper, you and your mentor have an adventure in front of you.'_

Her arm jerked, and her wand popped into her hand. A second later, and she was on her feet. A few flicked, and a long, silver-tipped spear appeared. Another wave, and it duplicated, not unlike the Hwacha spell.

When Lupin showed up, she skewered him.

' _That's how a werewolf is stopped. I am content, for the most part, to let you come to the right conclusion on your own, and reveal myself in due time. It is something the girl in the diary needs to see for herself. But then you had to get in a fight with a werewolf. Silly girl.'_

Harry stared, at the thing that was Lupin, once. He was half-full of spears, twitching. The spell hadn't just shot indiscriminately - indeed, silver pierced the hands, feet, knees, elbows, shoulders, hips, and the like.

 _I think I need him alive,_ she remarked, mildly.

' _He'll live.'_ Her arm absentmindedly conjured a bunch of silver wire, wrapping it around him with a complicated twirl.

 _And I - who are you?_ What _are you?_

' _I am death. And I live inside you. Anything else, and you'll have to learn for yourself.'_

And then the pressure eased - the presence fled.

Harry was left standing alone on the lawn of Hogwarts, in the light of the moon, a trapped werewolf at her feet.

She paused for a moment, considering just how to explain… any of this, really. The wand felt loose, in her hand. Her other arm was broken, aching - but it was a low ache, and easily tossed aside. She couldn't exactly leave him alone - he was a werewolf, wasn't he? And - well - she had to make sure whatever the silver spear solution was, it would work. And she couldn't exactly leave a werewolf to wander the grounds, could she?

Annoying. She spat blood, from her mouth, where it had pooled, and absentmindedly wiped the rest of it away.

She sent up sparks, if nothing else. Maybe Hagrid would see them.

The werewolf snarled, and struggled, but the strange spirit's spells were still working. Harry was, admittedly, very confused about all that. It'd been… something. Another thing, lurking in the diary - and from the way it was talking, it was waiting for Cecilia and her to figure out something, before it told them that it was just lurking in the back of Harry's mind.

That… Harry wasn't sure, how that worked. The fact that the presence had shown up to help her not get bitten by a werewolf was good, definitely. A good sign. It had probably saved her life, and it definitely saved her from being bitten.

She supposed she'd have to thank it, at some point. If it came back. She sort of had to assume that it was something to do with Cecilia's missing memories. And it had said that things would work themselves out, so it looked like the 'right track' was Alexandria, this summer.

A group of people, wands illuminating the grass around them, stepped into view.

"Hello?" A voice called.

"Here," Harry said, loudly. She held up her wand, and illuminated -

Dumbledore, Fudge, and Macnair. Huh. She stayed far away from Dumbledore's mind, but Fudge was full of genuine admiration for the old headmaster, and Macnair was full of… well, satisfaction didn't quite cover it. It was satiety, more like.

"A pleasant night for an evening stroll, sir."

"Harriet," Dumbledore said, sharply. "What are you doing out of bounds?" His presence roiled, with magic. It lent him a weight, his irritation with her righteous.

She laughed, a little - out of nervousness, if nothing else. "Well, Professor Lupin wanted a word, but…" she trailed off, shining her wand at the impaled and tied-up werewolf. "He, uh, had a little bit of an episode. I didn't want to just _leave_ him, so I've sort of just been babysitting."

"Merlin's beard!" Fudge exclaimed. "Walden!" he hissed. Macnair, then.

The executioner stepped forward, fingering his axe.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore interrupted, mildly. "I, for one, would very much like to hear what Mr. Lupin has to say for himself."

"You cannot be serious, Dumbledore! You can't possibly mean to - this _beast_ \- the Girl-Who-Lived!"

"He did say that he betrayed my parents," she pointed out. "Raved, actually, about it. Wonder if he was working with Black." She knew it was no such thing, but, well, best to put it into his mind.

And, indeed, he went for the prejudice instantly. Of course a werewolf was working for Voldemort.

"I have faith in Remus," the headmaster pointed out. "He has long labored to move past his affliction."

"I thought you promised that it would be _contained_!" Fudge hissed.

"And he was. You might notice that tonight was the first time that he posed any danger to the students. Rest assured, I have every hope that the Ministry prosecutes him to the fullest extent of the law for this. I am simply objecting to having Mr. Macnair execute him on the spot."

Harry scoffed. Dumbledore regarded her, coolly.

"I just have to say, having tangled with a werewolf, I'd normally be with the Minister on this one. But if he did have something to do with my parents' deaths, I am very interested in hearing it."

"Miss Potter, surely you know - it was Sirius Black that betrayed them…" Fudge put in.

"So you say. If you give me some sort of proof, I'd be happy to agree. But I happen to know that Sirius Black never got a trial, so I'm very interested in hearing the truth of the matter, since all I am left with is supposition," she said, acidly. "Odd of me to be so concerned, I know."

"Rest assured, we will find the truth," Dumbledore promised.

"Sure," Harry agreed. "But if I have to bring a trial before the Wizengamot myself, I'll do it."

"I'm sure that won't be necessary, Harriet," Dumbledore pointed out. "I, too, am invested in the truth of that night."

Harry went for it - she forced the thought into Fudge's head. It was easy, like pushing him aside. Make him interrogate Lupin - and push for an actual trial, for Sirius.

"I'm sure it won't be, Dumbledore. And I am almost certainly going to make sure that this man is interrogated for his actions today."

"Your pursuit of justice is commendable," she told Fudge. It sort of felt like cheating, making him do it and then complimenting him on it. He beamed.

Dumbledore was looking between them, warily.

"May I go to the Hospital Wing?" Harry asked.

"Of course, Harriet. Cornelius, may I prevail upon you to escort her? I think dear Mr. Macnair and I can handle Remus."

Fudge beamed at her again. She forced herself to smile back at him, already rummaging around in his brain. She'd make him pursue justice, if nothing else.

* * *

The news broke, the very next day. Lupin was a werewolf, and he'd attacked Harry on the grounds. Lupin was a vampire, and he'd slaughtered his way through all of Hagrid's livestock. Lupin had dueled Dumbledore, in an epic battle that involved a number of siege spells, and a transfigured battleship in the Black Lake.

The stories were endless. And, surprisingly, the Aurors had come - Fudge had brought them, to interrogate Lupin. Harry smiled at the thought, even as Hermione and Ron grilled her, later, as they were leaving on the train.

"He just attacked you? Harry!"

"Did he bite you?" Ron asked.

"No," Harry said. "Just broke my arm. It wasn't _fun_ , but Snape set that essay for a reason. Silver really is useful against them."

Hermione was staring at her. For once, she was actually impressed.

"You took down a full-grown werewolf. By yourself. At night."

Harry eyed her, relaxing into the seat, and folding her arms. "I did."

"And he said he betrayed your parents?"

"Yeah. I mean, he was sort of rambling, but it was the way he said it. Like, he'd betrayed the lot of them - my parents, and Sirius. Made me wonder - well, Sirius didn't frame himself. So I… strongly suggested that Fudge investigate further. Hopefully, someone will catch on."

Ron frowned, rubbing his forehead. "You can't be sure it'll do anything, though."

"Of course not," Harry said. "But I have… other options, I guess."

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked.

"I mean, my family's old, and, well, turns out this country is so silly that that actually means something. So yeah, taking it to the Wizengamot is kind of an option."

"What?" Hermione pressed.

"You have a seat on the WIzengamot?" Ron was on it, at least.

Hermione had every bit the amount of revulsion for that that Harry expected her to have. "You can't possibly be saying what I think you're saying."

"Yes, Hermione. I am, in fact, Her Grace the Lady Potter. It's hilarious. I can technically take my seat whenever I want it. It's empty, now, but just imagine. I have more power than a properly elected MP."

"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Hermione declared, firmly.

"It's the old Houses, Hermione," Ron explained. "I mean, if I was the last Weasley, I wouldn't have that power - we don't have a seat, so we're technically a Common House. And most of the ones that do aren't - Longbottom, for instance, his grandmother is in charge, but yeah, that's about the gist of it."

"Yep," Harry agreed. "Most of the money I can't touch until I'm of age, other than my trust vault, which has literally tens of thousands of galleons, but I have… four houses? Well, I'd have five, but apparently the Ministry confiscated one and turned it into a memorial after that whole Girl-Who-Lived thing."

"Harry, you're - how did you find this all out?"

"Most of it I had to find out through post," Harry said. "Once I turned eleven, I got some statements, but I didn't read most of it. Just money stuff. I also didn't really realize just how valuable Galleons are - I thought one was like, five pounds, not hundreds.

"It was only when Neville mentioned something that I looked into it. So there it is. I mean, the money is managed by the goblins, and the houses are just sort of frozen, so it doesn't really matter, but it is kind of funny. The real irony is that Sirius made me his heir, and if you think the Potters have a stupid amount of money, let me tell you about the Blacks."

Ron laughed, uncomfortably. He was a little bit red. She could practically feel how he was struggling, hearing about all this.

"That reminds me," she told him. "I need to find a way to get you Weasleys some money for taking care of me last summer."

He went even redder. "I don't want your charity-"

"It's not charity, Ron," she said. "Your family took me in, fed me, and didn't ask for a thing. It's only right that I do something in return."

"It's not necessary," he insisted.

She bared her teeth at him. "Like I said, I have tens of thousands of galleons in a trust vault. What else am I going to spend it on?"

He just stared at her, red in the face. He didn't have a good answer for her, so he just set his jaw, mulishly.

Hermione glanced between them, uncomfortable with the topic.

Harry put her hands up. "It's not a huge deal, okay? I just… I want to thank your parents, for being ever so kind."

Ron shrugged. Harry stretched, and settled back into the seat. She wasn't going to push.

"Speaking of which, Harry, you're not going back to the Dursleys, are you?" Hermione asked.

"No," she said. "I'm not. Sirius promised never again, and it's very lucky that no one knows he's an animagus, so he's meeting me at the train station, and we're going abroad."

"Oh!" Hermione said. "We're going to France, too, later. Where were you going?"

"Sirius said something about the Mediterranean, and India," Harry said. "I'd like to go to Egypt at some point, so I imagine we'll just wander that way."

They both stared. Ron was feeling something like jealousy, and Hermione was just marveling at her and Sirius combined, and wondering who between them was more irresponsible.

"Any suggestions, for that, by the way? Egypt, I mean. I know your family went this summer."

Ron shrugged. "The tombs were neat, I guess."

Privately, she thought Cecilia might find them more interesting than her. Maybe later, when they could both go in person, and she could understand it better. She was more interested in the mystery of the thing that lurked in the back of her mind.

"I've heard that the magical culture there is fascinating. Positively ancient!" Hermione said. "Oh, I'd be so interested…"

Harry smiled. "I know. I'm looking forward to it. I'll keep in touch, for sure, this time."

She sniffed. "You'd better."

The conversation eventually petered out enough that Harry finally got a chance to write Cecilia. It was rather hard to do in the Hospital Wing, after all.

_Cecilia._

The familiar handwriting appeared practically instantly. _Harriet_.

_It's been an eventful few days. I suppose I owe you an apology._

_I can't imagine for what._

_I've learned what Professor Lupin is. Though, he's not a professor anymore. He sort of lost that title after he turned into a werewolf and attacked me. I did meet a nice new friend in my head, though. It called itself Death, and it apparently lives in your diary._

There was a pause. _Are you alright?_

_I'm fine, thanks for asking._

_Good. I'm glad to hear it. Now, onto the rest of your comments - I did know he was a werewolf. Legilimency is… less than useful against them, most of the time. It is, I think, one of the few positive side effects of being one. However, if Dumbledore allowed this Lupin to teach, I had assumed that he was rather desperate - you did mention that Defense professors rarely last, and thus, it seems possible that Voldemort cursed the position._

Harry felt a chill go down her spine. _That would be… really bad._

_The odds of the number of Defense professors that have died, or suffered unfortunate fates are astronomically low. A curse of some type is the most likely explanation. But I've gotten slightly distracted. I'm glad you survived, but I admit that I did not imagine that he was likely to attack you._

_You could have warned me,_ she pointed out.

 _I could have, but Albus Dumbledore is no fool. I assumed that he would very likely have precautions. However, this was a mistake._ Cecilia's writing grew jagged. _It's very likely he's senile._

 _Hey,_ Harry protested.

_Harry, you've been attacked twice in his school - twice by professors he's hired. Forgive me for being slightly angry with him. He's supposed to protect you._

_I know, but it's not like he meant for it to happen._

_Of course not. But it_ did _happen. And more than once - I expect we need to keep a careful eye on your next Defense professor. Do your best to avoid them, from now on._

 _I will,_ Harry promised. _I didn't mean to worry you._

_I didn't say I was worried, little weed. Regardless, it would be very annoying to cultivate another student like you. I have no intention of letting you die, to Voldemort or to werewolves._

_I think Lupin might have been working for Voldemort._

_Well, doubly so, then. Regardless of his motive. I imagine that he wanted to infect you. You are rather famous, after all._

_Yeah. And he said he knew my parents, and Sirius. I tried to get Fudge to interrogate him on that. We'll see how it works out._

_Of course. And - the last thing you mentioned. This Death. What was it like? A strange choice of nickname._

_Strange?  
_

_In the light of Voldemort translating, roughly, to 'flight from death.'_

_Yes, okay, interesting, but I think Death is the thing that affected the ritual. It said that there was more to the diary than either of us know. It was able to take control of my body. It was a little weird - it did some strange trick that definitely wasn't Apparition, and, most importantly, it spoke in Korean._

_Oh? That's… something. Nothing has responded. If another presence exists, it hides itself from me. Perhaps it has fled, from me to you._

_Yeah,_ Harry wrote, feeling bad. _It said something about revealing itself in due time. I sort of assumed that it meant our plans to visit Alexandria this summer. Maybe there's a clue, or something._

_A clue? How odd. I confess, it's somewhat strange to picture a convenient trail to my missing memories. If they're gone, they're likely gone. I fail to understand what, exactly, we will find._

_I don't get it either,_ Harry replied. _But I suppose if we did know, it would be talking to us._

 _If you are sure,_ Cecilia wrote. Harry could tell just from the words she used that she was annoyed and didn't believe that.

 _It doesn't change anything. It just confirms our suspicions - that there_ is _something in the Diary, waiting for us._

_Somehow, I don't find that reassuring. It might not be friendly._

_It saved me from the werewolf - controlled me, and dispatched it quite easily. It also knew you - so I think it is. At least for now, we can't really stop it if we don't know anything about it._

_True_. _I find myself ill at ease to have a roommate. I'm sure you can imagine why._

Harry smirked. _Admit it. You just don't like sharing._

_I do not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit, I'm not satisfied with the buildup to Lupin working for Voldemort. It is, however, one of the twists I'd planned since the beginning - Pettigrew really is dead. Whether that will lead to Sirius being exonerated - who knows? Maybe you do.
> 
> And Death's here. Not real Death, but just a fun voice in your head that calls itself Death and rambles cryptically. Aren't blood rituals fun?


	15. Travelling

The big black dog met her, on the platform, bounding up and licking her face, like it was his job. Like he took some sort of strange perverse pleasure in doing that. She shoved him away. The experience was less overwhelming, in the crowd, now that she had a better handle on Legilimency. It was easier, to keep her mind to herself.

"Alright, you big lug. I get it. Nice to see you too." He let her go, wagging his tail. "Let's go." His Occlumency was better, even - she was pleased to see.

She released Hedwig, to fly separately across France, and said a quick goodbye to Mrs. Weasley, dodging the hug, and followed Sirius out of the barrier, and into Muggle London. Harry looked around for Uncle Vernon, but, it seemed that the Dursleys had indeed washed their hands of her.

How lucky.

They kept walking, until Sirius led them into a parking garage, in the middle of London. They took the stairs, where he transformed into a man outside the cameras, and grinned at her. He was wearing a leather jacket and dark jeans, and although she wouldn't say he looked _good_ , he didn't look like a half-starved lunatic. Harry was wearing shorts and a thin hoodie, her trunk shrunken and stowed.

He'd changed his look, a bit - his hair was bleached, it looked like, making it nearly white, and shaved to his scalp. His eyes weren't the cool grey she was used to - they were green, like hers, and he looked different enough that she thought it was unlikely he'd be recognized.

"Hey, kitten," he said, smiling in the darkness of the stairwell. His teeth flashed white, in the darkness. He'd done something to them, to fix them.

"Hey, Sirius."

"I've got a surprise!" he said, throwing out his arms, and bounding up.

She wrinkled her nose, leaning against the concrete wall. "I'm a Legilimens, Sirius. You've been thinking about it for a while."

He deflated. "Man. No fun. Can't you pretend to be surprised?"

"Fine," she said, grinning. "If you must. What's your surprise, Sirius?"

He beamed. "Come on!" He dragged her up two flights of stairs, and out onto the third garage, past a few cars, until…

"A motorcycle! Wow!" she said, with exaggerated cheer. It was sleek, and black, and looked fast - the front was almost bubble-like, with a slightly longer rear. Sirius must have bought it, to be comfortable with a second rider.

"Sarcastic much?" he asked.

"We going on a road trip, then?" she asked.

"Hmph," he said.

"It is a very neat motorcycle," she admitted. "I've never been on one. The Dursleys would be horrified."

Sirius grinned, wolfishly. "Excellent." He handed her a helmet - though, he didn't wear one himself, and she put it on. He mounted up, and she got on behind him, grinning a little. She was a little bit excited, for this. She'd wanted to poke at Sirius, a little, but now that it was time to go, she found herself surprisingly excited.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sure," she agreed, grinning wider.

As they zoomed out into the London traffic, she couldn't help the whoop in delight, as he accelerated.

* * *

To cross the Channel, they took a ferry, loading up Sirius' motorbike. It was a large, white thing, and Sirius had booked passage, with Muggle money. She was surprised, to see that the Muggles didn't seem to recognize him. He didn't look _that_ different, she thought. But the teller didn't have a lick of suspicion.

They stood, now, leaning against the rail, on the back of the boat, watching the churning wake flow from the engine, like little mountain caps. It wasn't raining - instead, the sky was grey, and a light mist scattered across the water.

"I wanted to talk about Remus Lupin," she said, softly.

He started. She could feel his surprise, thick in her mind, even through his barrier. She wasn't poking at him, but he emoted enough that she'd actively have to withdraw her attention to not feel it.

"Remus, huh? You said he was a good Defense professor." He chuckled. "Can't imagine him as a teacher, honestly."

"What did he do during the war?"

He glanced over at her, eyes soft. "Dumbledore had him spying, on the wolves."

"Yeah," Harry agreed, his words from that night running through her head, like a river she couldn't quite dam. "That's what I was afraid of."

Some concern trickled through. "Yeah?"

"He was weird. Took an interest, but it was only a few days ago that he even admitted that he knew you, or my parents," she explained. "And he said - want me to show you the memory?"

He tilted his head. "Sure."

She flashed back to that awful night, and forced it towards him. He went - well, not pale, but his eyes widened and he was suddenly _furious_.

"He didn't," he hissed. "If he touched you, I'll _kill_ him."

"I'm fine, Sirius. He broke my arm, but I was fine. I'm not bad at magic, you know." Or, at least, the weird thing in her head wasn't bad at magic. He didn't seem appeased - hatred was leaking out of him, like sparks flying.

He glared at her, almost as if to reassure himself she was there. She held out her hands, and before she could move, he was hugging her, practically crushing her against him. Harry didn't really go for the whole… hugging thing, but there was no time to refuse, and he seemed to need it, to reassure himself, so she patiently endured it, like she did with Mrs. Weasley's hugs.

And, well, it was sort of nice, if she was being honest, that he cared that much. Mrs. Weasley clearly did, but she just considered Harry another kid - but she was Sirius' whole world.

"I know, kitten." He sighed, and stared out. "Remus was… weird, during the war. Distant. But he was our friend. I guess you know that he was a werewolf."

"Yeah," she said. "It shouldn't have been a surprise. I had trouble reading him from the start."

"It's not something he could help," Sirius defended, loyally. "But that night - he shouldn't have been out. And he went for you. I suppose it could have been him. Pettigrew, I mean. It was… jumbled."

"It is?" Harry asked. "I sort of… played with Fudge's head, to try and make sure he looked into the possibility that it was Lupin. Some of the stuff he said, made me wonder. And I don't really trust Fudge to find his ass with both hands."

Sirius snorted, at that. "You should have pranked him."

"I think I'll leave that to you," she declared. "Since I think it's possible that you'll end up free enough to be able to annoy the crap out of him." She raked eyes over his face, his hands. "Pettigrew, though. What do you remember from that night?"

Pain and guilt emanated from him, and he glanced away. "The thing I remember most is… finding the ruins. The house. The hole, in the wall where her spell rebounded. James - James was dead, on the living room floor. He put up a fight… he was always so talented at Transfiguration. I mean, I wasn't bad, but I had nothing on him."

He let out a massive, gusty sigh. "You don't - you don't need to know the details. James was - he was a good fighter. He used to do this thing, where he'd transfigure all the furniture into a pack of wolves…"

"All at once?" Harry asked. She didn't exactly spend a ton of time with Transfiguration, but that sounded useful. "That would be impressive."

"It wasn't impressive enough. Your mum, on the other hand…" he trailed off, smiling wistfully. "I've never met anyone as talented as she was. She was years ahead, in school. None of us could come close. That girl you're friends with, Hermione? Lily was better." He chuckled. "I don't know if she fought. Or… what happened. I don't think she did, because she and Voldemort would have blown up the house in the first few seconds, probably. And nothing was touched, except where Voldemort's half-melted corpse lay, a hole in the wall behind her.

"You were there, too, bawling. I pulled you from the crib, untouched, except…" he reached out, and touched her scar. "I was taking you away - I wasn't sure where, at the time. But the Fidelius had to be broken, and I lived there, with them. I had nowhere to go. We should have had a bolt-hole, somewhere, but I guess we were foolish. Trusted Pettigrew."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked. "I don't think you talked about Pettigrew."

Sirius grunted. "We were all friends. Me, James, Remus, and Peter. The four Marauders, we called ourselves."

Harry cut him off. "Wait. Marauders? You mean like the Map?"

Her godfather's eyes lit up, brightly. He looked years younger, again.

"Oh! You know about the Map?"

Harry laughed, out loud, and dug into her bag - the expanded cloth bag she'd bought last summer in Diagon Alley, and pulled out the Map. She handed it over, and he took it reverently, tapping it with his wand and glancing over it.

"I can't believe it. We lost it, in our last year. And somehow you ended up with it. It's gotta be some kind of an insane coincidence," he declared, brightly. "Where'd you find it?"

"It was a gift, from the Weasley twins, so I could sneak out to Hogsmeade," Harry said. "I was already in the mental hospital when the letters went out, and Vernon would have taken perverse pleasure in not signing the form, anyway." She glanced at Sirius, seeing his eyes darken, furiously. "I was sort of hoping that Lupin's interrogation would get you absolved, though."

"Ahh," he said. "I don't know. I'm glad you ended up with the Map, either way. Those twins - maybe I should have a talk with them. I'm Padfoot, you see. Your dad was Prongs, Remus was Moony, and Peter was Wormtail. We were… frankly, we were right terrors. Spent half our time causing trouble, and the other half the time in detention for it."

He handed the map back, and Harry was careful to tuck it away, before she stared out at the churning wake.

Sirius continued, "Peter was… he wasn't the best wizard, but he was clever. He had a talent for the subtle. Made me wonder why he didn't get sent to Slytherin, sometimes, in hindsight. But I knew that he was a decent man, when it came down to it. Of course, I thought that about Moony, too, and look how that ended.

"But the Fidelius - we cast it, on the house. Everyone thought I was the secret-keeper. I went around, telling everyone that I was - even Dumbledore. I thought it was clever. Peter was, though. I don't know… I thought he'd betrayed us. I had nowhere to go, and I… I'm sorry, kitten. It was my fault. Hagrid turned up, and he told me that I had to hand you over, to Dumbledore."

"Hagrid?" Harry asked, a little confused. "I - Sirius. I…" She frowned, feeling her hands tremble on the railing. Her mouth felt dry. "Why? Don't get me wrong, Hagrid's great, but why?"

Sirius' eyes were wet. "I'm so, so, sorry. I'll never do it again. It was the worst decision of my life. You know how many times I thought about that, in Azkaban? I should have waited. I should have _made sure_ you were safe. I shouldn't have trusted them. And to know that the old man put you with _Petunia_." He spat the name.

"I don't…" Harry hugged herself. "I wish you hadn't given me away."

He grabbed her again, tighter than before. "Me too, kitten. Me too. But - I thought I'd be coming back for you. I went after Peter, you see. And he was dead, when I cornered him. Mutilated. And then - there was a trap ward. Blew up the street. And I realized - it was a set-up. I never even thought about Moony. We hadn't seen him for weeks. He was spying, on the werewolves."

Harry said nothing, and he continued, his voice raspy. "I can't say how sorry I am. I'm never going to let you suffer again. You'll be safe at Hogwarts, but during the summer… I'm going to take you to the Black properties, the ones I've fixed up, in Marseille and Kolkata. I've got portkeys prepared, too. So you can be safe. And secure. I know I've fucked up."

"I know, Sirius." And she did - she'd have to be totally close-minded not to sense how strongly he broadcasted how totally serious he was. "I know you're serious."

"Damn right. Don't forget it," he said, grinning. It was weak, but it made her feel a little better. "But that's - the Aurors caught up with me, and arrested me on the spot. Crouch - that bastard - had me thrown into Azkaban without a trial. And then I was rotting away, in a cell next to my ex-favorite cousin." He sneered. "She's much less fun nowadays than when were kids - it's less pranking my mother and more murder all the muggles."

Harry huffed, a little. "I'm sure. But you don't know anything else?"

"No," he grunted. "I don't. Could it be Lupin? I don't know. I haven't seen the man for thirteen years. You said you compelled Fudge. I'll make sure I get copies of the Prophet, but that doesn't mean we should do anything but what we are doing."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "Just going to drive for a while, then?"

"Yeah." His thoughts turned wistful. "Your mum rode with me, sometimes. I broke into our old house to get that helmet. It was hers."

Harry glanced down at the plain black motorcycle helmet, in her hands. She had her father's Invisibility Cloak, but that was the first thing that she'd owned that she knew for sure had been her mother's. Suddenly, as unremarkable as it was, it was very precious.

"You said… you loved her?" Harry asked, quietly.

"I did," Sirius admitted, just as quietly. Harry had a strange sort of feeling, about that.

He had an equally odd look on his face. Harry prodded at his mind, and she couldn't quite identify the feelings - there didn't seem to be any associated memories, just a sort of vaguely numb feeling.

"Ah," Harry said.

"We did date, if that's what you're wondering," Sirius admitted. "Couldn't marry her, because I was - my parents kicked me out. I hated my family. They were awful. And marry a Muggleborn?" He snorted. "As if. James ended up doing it, and she agreed, because she was fond of him. But it was… well, he was half in love with her from the moment he saw her. I don't know if she ever felt the same way about him."

"Protection?" Harry repeated, dumbly.

"It's one of those stupid old law things. If you're part of a noble family, you have more rights. And, well, there were plenty of people who rather disliked your mother. So it _was_ sort of necessary - for her, if nothing else." He wrinkled his nose. "Old Pureblood families will do nasty things to Muggleborns they want to get rid of, and the law is generally on their side, unless they have some legal protection. As a student, they have it, but once they leave school, they usually need someone to stick up for them."

Harry's blood went a little cold. "Does that mean - one of my best friends is Muggleborn…"

"Yeah, she'll need it, too, from what you've said," Sirius grunted. "But you can adopt her, if it comes to that."

Her brain stuttered. "I can… adopt Hermione?"

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "Or sponsor her into an apprenticeship. She's smart enough for one."

"That's good," Harry agreed, feeling much relieved. "But back to my mum - you said… uh." She felt herself blush. "Uh, how did that work?"

"Well, we hit it off in fifth year, or so. Bonded, a bit, over family - her sister being awful, my… entire family, being awful." He chuckled. "Ended up spending time together, and we got along better than I'd expected. She was wicked talented, wicked smart, and she had a nasty streak a mile wide. I guess I like that in a girl."

"Everyone said that she and my dad were the nicest people. Good, and wonderful and all that."

"That's a crock of shite," Sirius replied, tartly. "You remind me of her a lot. She wasn't a Legilimens, mind, but she was nasty with a wand, and sometimes she dabbled in… things she shouldn't've. James had a mean streak, too - he used to have a go at Snape over the littlest things. They were people, Harry. Good people - the best. But people. And nobody's just one thing. Even my ex-favorite cousin who became a Death Eater used to stick up for me, when my mother got on one of her rages." He huffed. "That's why she used to be my favorite, you see."

"Thanks, Sirius," she said, feeling the grin tug at her lips. Being compared to her mother was - it was wonderful. "Tell me more about my cousins?"

Sirius grinned - and Harry grinned back.

* * *

Sirius had, apparently, planned to drive the motorcycle across France. He charmed the customs agent, and they stayed one night in a Muggle hotel. Harry was a little bit more worried about that than the ferry, honestly - but the receptionist thought it was cute - that they were father and daughter.

That thought was oddly more reassuring than she'd expected. And indeed, while Sirius Black was indeed likely to be recognized in Magical Britain, Muggle Britain had stopped looking for him. And Magical France had probably gotten the memo, but Muggle France almost certainly hadn't. They had nothing to worry about, it seemed.

Harry had never been in a hotel before - Sirius had, somehow, arranged it in advance. She hadn't quite expected this. And he'd wanted curry - they got Muggle take-out, and ate masala and madras, perched on the little balcony that came with the expensive room.

And Sirius, apparently spoke French - he told her that her accent was atrocious, somehow, all wrong and odd in ways that a native English speaker wasn't likely to get wrong. Harry knew that it was just one of those funny Diary things, and the less-than-helpful thing in the back of her head that called itself Death was probably to blame.

Funny, who knew. Apparently Death wasn't particularly good at speaking French.

The next morning, they were up, and driving through rolling green fields, at first, and then through forests, very flat land all the way. They stopped for petrol, and lunch - Harry was perfectly fine with a sandwich and some crisps - and then they were on their way again, stopping for the night in a thin hostel. Not nearly as nice - but the beds were warm, and Harry had her own room.

It was simple enough, to do so. Harry was perfectly content to travel like this - it was interesting, to see a bit of French countryside. It looked, frankly, a lot like the British countryside - but it was enough to be outside, in the warm air, riding on a motorcycle with her godfather. They weren't visiting any landmarks, yet - Sirius had mentioned swimming, in the Mediterranean, but that was about it - but she didn't really know much, about that sort of thing. Touristy things. She knew Paris was supposed to have a bunch of stuff - the Louvre, maybe? That was a thing people talked about.

She was perfectly content to follow Sirius' lead, for the most part. But she did have something to discuss.

That night, she perched herself in the warm, carpeted room, in an armchair that was comfortable even with the stuffing spilling out of it, and eyed Sirius. He was sitting on the bed, panting, in his Animagus form.

"You done?" she asked, clutching Cecilia's diary, as some sort of reassurance.

He just barked, happily. Apparently running around the room like a weirdo was great fun, when you were a dog.

"I need to talk to you about something," she said.

He turned into a man. His dark jeans and darker shirt were loose, on his thin frame. She'd have to get him to eat more.

"I was having fun," he whined, petulantly.

She raised an eyebrow.

"That expression was all Lily," he said. "Bad dog." He winked. Harry got more information from his mind than she ever needed to know about how exactly he spent time with her mother. Gross.

"I need to talk to you about something," she repeated.

"Okay."

She paused. Now that she had his attention, it was harder to get the words out. "I'd like to visit the Library. If we have time, I mean. Of Alexandria."

His eyes were wide. "I always thought you were more of a doer, like me," he muttered. He felt almost disappointed.

"I am," she said. It was true - Cecilia often complained that Harry had no patience for theory. "I just…" She shrugged. "I've never been outside of Britain before. But when we've been riding all day - I dunno, I was just thinking about what I want to do. And it's a place that I think is worth going."

The Library was, as one might have thought, the Library of Alexandria. The Muggles had burned theirs, but the mages had hidden their part half outside of reality. It was rumored to be very beautiful, and very exclusive - the higher tiers were invite-only, and people labored for years to get access.

Cecilia believed - and Cecilia was rarely wrong - that it was the best place to start their search for the truth about Death, and Harry's missing memories.

"Okay," he agreed. "I don't know anyone who has access, so I can't arrange that. But everything else is easy."

"Don't worry about that," Harry said. "I just want to see it." She'd cross that bridge when it came to it. Cecilia had said she'd had an idea, anyway. Her other self had gone to the city in the first place with the intention of accessing the Library, and it was possible that she had succeeded. Cecilia was intelligent and resourceful, after all. And, magically, Harry's Cecilia should be the old Cecilia, so it was possible that she knew it all already.

The mechanics were, of course, obtuse, but Cecilia guessed that an invite would technically extend to her as well, even if she was a copy trapped in a diary.

Sirius nodded, seriously. "Are you done being serious now? Can I be Sirius again?"

"Aren't you just going to be Padfoot?"

He just laughed, and turned back into a dog.

* * *

The house in Marseille was not, as Harry had assumed, a house. She had precious little to base her ideas off - the Dursleys, and the Weasleys. She had sort of imagined a mix of the two, maybe a regular house with some extra bits mixed in, or something.

She wasn't quite expecting the bloody huge mansion, set on the cliffside, on the hills overlooking the city. Funnily enough, too, it was white - made of pale, sun-bleached stone.

They pulled up to the gates, and Sirius welcomed them inside. It was bright - large windows, and lots of light colors. The surrounding garden wasn't enormous, and very overgrown, but there was a beautiful stone veranda that led to a thin set of steps, carved into the cliff. It led down to the beach, despite there being a Muggle road in the way. Harry had never seen anywhere half as beautiful as this.

She said so.

Sirius laughed. "Sure. I always did like this place."

"I just - well, given the whole black Blacks thing - not that we're _really_ black, or even brown, it's just…" She glanced around, fingers tight around her mother's motorcycle helmet. "I was expecting it to be darker, palette-wise."

"The family castle is plenty dark, and the London townhouse is somehow worse," he admitted.

"There's a family castle?" she asked.

"Yeah. I mean, it's sort of more of a keep, really. Castles the size of Hogwarts are rare. Some of the old family manors are castles - I know the Notts have one, too. But that's half tradition and half wanting to show off."

"Oh," Harry said. Not for the first time, she felt like she'd stepped into some Victorian period drama. Lordships and castles and beautiful summer manors in the south of France.

Oh, if the Dursleys could see her now.

Sirius glanced over at her. "I sorta imagined we'd stay here, for the most part. Unless you've got an objection."

Harry glanced up at the house. "Sirius, I could live here for the rest of my life."

"Don't get too excited," he warned, staring up at it. "I don't think anyone but me's been here in years. Half the place is still closed down."

"The Dursleys' house could fit into this place three times over," Harry pointed out. "So by that logic, if half this place is uninhabitable, that's still one and a half Dursley houses, for just two of us."

Sirius laughed. "Alright. I got two suites in the family wing, and some family rooms fixed up. You ready for the tour?"

"Yes," Harry said, fervently.

The tour turned out to be somewhat disappointing - the big house was, as Sirius had said, mostly full of furniture still covered in white sheets. The water ran, and the lamps worked, apparently, but it was still a beautiful home - all white tile, and light woods. The walls were often soft, pastel colors, and only a few rooms were in darker greens, or blues.

That being said, there was a certain sort of dangerous look to some of the pieces - Harry had an end table that looked like it was made from someone's spine, and snake motifs were common. A rack of house-elves' heads were mounted in the foyer (Sirius said that it was tradition to behead them, when they were too old to serve) and an enormous, taxidermied Horned Serpent wound around the receiving room.

Harry and Sirius, even though it was late in the day, took the stone stairs down to the beach. It was hidden - away from Muggles, Sirius said. They weren't technically in the city, anymore, rather in the cliffs to the south. Most of the land around them was a Muggle nature park, surrounded by cliffs, but the sandy white beach around them was hidden, and only accessible from the Black stairs.

Harry waded in, in her thin shorts and a vest top - it was colder than she'd hoped. Sirius ran in, in dog form, paddling around like a goofball.

Across the bay, she could see a Muggle fortress, on craggy rock. The sun was warm, even as it shone down from above the sea.

Harry couldn't swim, so she only went in a little bit, buffeted by the waves. Sometimes it sucked to be so short. But it was nice, anyways, if a little cold.

She'd never been to the sea, before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no promises on a next update. been struggling with motivation in this fandom, but I am really pleased with my plans for Harry's summer, so things should improve. But more than that, I've been having lots of trouble sticking to a single project lately.
> 
> also, fun facts: apparently, the Mediterranean in southern France is very cold, even in the summer. Also, the Muggle fortress that Harry mentions is the Chateau d'If, also known as the prison where the Count of Monte Cristo was imprisoned.


End file.
